


Harry and the Three Knights

by Terias



Series: Lionsnake Chronicles [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Murder, Background Relationships, Developing Friendships, First Kiss, Funny Misconceptions, Gen, Goblins, Harry Potter Haters, Internationalization, It's not who you think, It's raining, Merpeople, Minor Character Death, Occlumency lessons, One-Sided Attraction, Overturning Wrongful Conviction, Past Acid Attack, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red Herrings, Salem Institute, Slytherin Harry, Veela, lycanthropy, of a side character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 267,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terias/pseuds/Terias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry returns to Hogwarts for his fourth year, much wiser and eager to avoid the pitfalls of the previous three years. Unfortunately, his fate is entwined by the machinations of others, and he soon discovers that he has trusted the wrong people...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To the World Cup

**Author's Note:**

> May you enjoy your reading adventure.

Sunday morning, Harry Potter woke with a startled jolt. Immediately, he brought a hand to his throbbing, lightning-shaped scar. This was the second time in a month he'd woken from a strange, vivid nightmare with the scar on his forehead hurting terribly, the second time he'd dreamt he was a massive snake that was easily the size of that boa contractors he'd once accidentally let loose. It was bizarre that he was having these nightmares about places he didn't know with supporting characters he didn't recognize. Harry wished he could make out Voldemort's servant. He did know there had been a woman there, Voldemort's caretaker from the sounds of it… The only certainty was that they involved his fears involving Trelawney's prediction.

Yet, and this thought chilled him terribly, what if the dreams that had occurred with his scar hurting  _weren't_  simply dreams of anxiety and worry? What if at this very moment Voldemort was planning to use Harry for some awful ritual that included his blood? Had the evil wizard replaced a Hogwarts staff member to lure Harry out? Or… was the 'faithful servant' none other than Severus Snape, Harry's Slytherin Head of House…?

He shivered, chiding himself over his assumption against his previous legal guardian. It wasn't like Harry knew every Death Eater to crawl the Earth, so he couldn't jump to that conclusion. Beneath his cool fingertips the old scar continued to burn as if a white-hot wire was pressing against it. In the darkness, he reached out for his Glaxxes, wizard-made glasses that were much more durable than the old Muggle pair that had gotten Splinched last summer. He put them on and sat up in the darkness.

Neville's oblivious, soft snores came from the other side of the room they shared in Longbottom Manor. Since Harry had been adopted as a Ward of the Longbottom family, Harry hadn't minded fulfilling his brother's simple request. Besides, the Manor was large and uninviting enough as it was without sleeping in separate rooms. The snoring was never worse than the likes that Vernon Dursley had emitted.

Leaning towards the bedside table, Harry turned on an oil lamp with a twist of the tiny side-knob; a tiny spark magically leapt to the wick providing dim light in the room. Taking the lamp by the round handle, he padded out of the room and into the drafty corridor. As he went to Neville's personal study, he drew his cool fingers across the still-painful scar once more as he let out a troubled sigh.

Inside the room, he stopped at the mirror on the wall, pulling the black fringe from the distinct scar to get a closer look. A lean boy of average height looked back at him, his bright green eyes puzzled under his untidy bed-hair. Surprisingly, the scar didn't look swollen or bloody.

Why would it hurt so much if it showed no sign of it…? The soreness reminded him of his accidental duel against Snape the previous year.

He was uneasy. Harry didn't know when he stopped believing in coincidences, but he felt better now that he believed that the scar-hurting nightmares were true. It meant he could act to do something about it. Looking into his green eyes, he said, "I'm not going to let myself be murdered."

"That's the spirit, sir," his mirror image said with a pleasant voice.

With a snort, Harry covered the scar by patting the messy hair down.

"I know a losing battle when I see one," the mirror said with a jolly hint of amusement.

"Oh, quiet."

"Why should I, when I'm brimming with witty commentary?"

Harry was not about to argue with himself as he had last week to Neville's overexcited laughter, so he stepped away from the mirror and set the oil lamp down on the table. If the two times his scar had burned weren't dreams, who catered to Voldemort's every whim? From the discussion that the male servant and Voldemort had when she was first brought in, she was supposed to have worked for the Ministry of Magic. What could she have known that Voldemort had found useful? Harry concentrated hard, frowning. Voldemort asked the brown-haired woman about the security of the Quidditch World Cup, asked her where it was to be held; what day it was to begin at and what time. He also asked her other things about the Triwizard Tournament and then he cast " _Imperio_!"

But that was all Harry could remember of that first dream. Harry had woken as soon as a mist-like substance had erupted from Voldemort's wand. Too much in a hurry to go to his own desk Harry took out a quill, a full inkwell, and a page of parchment from Neville's stash in front of him and began to feverishly write down everything he remembered from his most recent one.

He'd been a snake called Nagini, who had a craving for rodents… who was often milked for her venom by the woman... The decrepit mansion stood at the top of a hill near a graveyard…

Inside, it was chilly everywhere and covered in layers of dust. Voldemort intended to stay there while he was too feeble to do anything for himself. With another faceless servant, a wizard by the raspy voice, Voldemort was plotting to kill someone before that person went after Harry. That was when Voldemort had spoken of the faithful servant at Hogwarts. Had he installed a new DADA instructor loyal to him? Harry let the memory of the 'dream' fill his mind.

Beside a roaring fireplace, Voldemort had been sitting in a chair with elegantly bowed legs… There was a rug next to the hearth. His conversation with the wizard had been interrupted by an old Muggle… A gardener Voldemort had called Bryce before he'd murdered the man in cold blood.

Reminded of the sharp pain that woke him, Harry rubbed his forehead with his free hand, while he set the quill back into the inkwell. The feel of old magic in the study was somehow comforting. Grey light began to dimly color the sole window across from him. The sound of the old clock ticking filled the empty room.

He took a deep breath trying to clear his mind as Mrs. Longbottom had taught him every single day that summer. Worries and uneasy concerns sprang forth disturbing his attempt. He exhaled noisily. It was impossible. He would never be good at Occlumency. He couldn't keep his mind silent. It kept churning through terrible possibilities of misfortune, painful mistakes, and future failures.

After all, Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. He knew that he would be forced to confront Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard for a century, likely this year. Harry didn't know  _how_  the evil wizard had survived, or why Harry was left alive with the scar as tribute to the dark magic that had touched him as an infant, but after Harry's refusal to join Voldemort's cause Harry knew he'd made a very real enemy.

Harry gazed at the shadowy bookcases around him. Longbottom Manor was odd and different. He hadn't grown up around magic. As per a ruling of Wizengamot Judges and some required magic performed with Mrs. Longbottom, Harry Potter had become the Legal Blood-Brother of Neville Longbottom.

Harry had lived with his awful Muggle relatives until the Ministry of Magic removed him from the Dursleys due to 'Child Mistreatment'. For the past two summers, Harry had lived with Severus Snape, a second cousin whose relation was close enough that the Blood Wards would protect Harry. He had been happy for a time, until the bastard had forced him away with some stupid ploy to have him turned over to Voldemort. Whatever the reason, Harry doubted Voldemort would take back someone who had renounced him so publicly.

Despite her unpleasantness, Augusta Longbottom née Prince was the next best candidate to temporarily adopt Harry. She was more closely related to Harry than Snape since she was Harry's great-aunt. Harry would have preferred to stay with his godfather, who was his second cousin once-removed. However, the trial date to prove the fugitive's innocence in the deaths of Harry's parents had yet to be set. Many times he had nearly picked up the compact mirror to ask Draco if he had heard anything, but didn't. He'd ignored Draco's yells when they came and stuffed the compact into a bag stuffed with worn out socks. Besides, why bother getting indebted to the prat more than he already was?

At any rate, it had meant that Harry would live with someone his age—Mrs. Longbottom's  _other_ grandson. Harry had so far felt safe with the Matriarch of the Longbottom family; Mrs. Longbottom's son and daughter-in-law had been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse by Voldemort's followers until they went mad. Ever since, Mrs. Longbottom was very strict and extremely protective of her grandson, Neville, and Harry couldn't see her ever turning Harry over to Voldemort, even if the evil wizard managed to abduct Neville as leverage.

As for Neville's parents, they were currently lodged in St. Mungo's. They were pleasant, likeable people but they were unable to speak or hold any sort of attention towards their guests. They had looked Harry over every five minutes as if he hadn't just been introduced the moment he'd met them. Alice, Neville's mum, had offered him a bubblegum wrapper same as she had with Neville. Harry was happy with that since he felt as if Neville's parents had accepted his presence in their family.

Even though Mrs. Longbottom told them to throw away the gum wrappers on their way out, the two of them had exchanged a defiant look and tucked the wrapper into their pockets. Without anything in his hand, Harry had patted the lid of the trash bin, which purred at the touch, on their way out.

When Harry had first learned he was a wizard four years ago, he had been constantly surprised by everything magical. Even now, something small like a purring trash bin could still catch him off guard. It'd been a great shock to find out Harry was a wizard, but even more so to know that his name was famous in the secretive Wizarding World. At eleven, Harry had thought it was very silly to think he was special because he had been present at the time of Voldemort's demise.

Now fourteen, his viewpoint hadn't changed. Something incredible had happened, Harry agreed, but he doubted it had much to do with him. Last year he would have said it was his mother's sacrifice that had protected him. Yet, an ancient wizard's portrait had said it was partly that and something else, but then refused to tell Harry what it was that had saved his life. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Harry's magical gifts.

Other than on the Quidditch Pitch or in Charms class, he wasn't particularly gifted or talented among the other Slytherins. His advanced-for-his-age dueling skill was a combination of the quick, inborn reflexes that were incredibly useful in a Quidditch match, intense study, and dedicated practice. After all, Harry was very keen to survive his schooling at Hogwarts. At the end of summer, he would be starting his fourth year there, the halfway point to finishing his basic magical education.

Presently, he was only two weeks away from school to begin; tomorrow was the Quidditch World Cup Final. As Harry sat on the chair and watched the window glow brighter from the impending sunrise, he was having second thoughts about going to the match. He knew he wouldn't be able to change Mrs. Longbottom's mind. She had insisted that she chaperone Neville and Harry when the letter from Theodore's father came with the invitations and tickets. Once Mrs. Longbottom made a decision—no matter how small and insignificant—it was absolute.

As the room became shrouded in a reddish orange glow, Harry picked up his now-dried parchment with the description of the dreams and went to the desk designated as his. His eyes paused over the numerous birthday cards he'd received. Before Harry had gone to Hogwarts, he'd never had a single friend. Now, he had been given so many things he actually liked or used that Harry had already written a letter to Professor Flitwick about placing an Undetectable Super-Extended Charm on his old trunk just to hold everything. The response from the Charms professor had been pleased, though Professor Flitwick declined due to his busy schedule. However, the professor promised to provide his fourth-year students with a lesson on that spell for Harry's benefit. That was more than Harry had anticipated.

Morning sunlight poured slowly over his desk, lighting the various trinkets on it. Harry's face nearly split wide into a smile as he remembered how his Slytherin year-mates had coordinated in sending him a mass of Slytherin paraphernalia with its traditional green-and-silver color scheme: quills, reams of parchment, patches, a fancy cardigan jumper, three pairs of socks, two ties—one with an animated silver snake upon it and the other with a flashing marquee regaling Slytherin's supremacy at Quidditch—a set of mittens, ear muffs, and frill-free night robes, all proudly stamped with the Slytherin Serpent on it. Harry thought that this was his housemates' rather thinly veiled response to him wearing Mrs. Weasley's  _handmade_  Slytherin jumper at the Slytherin's Quidditch Final last year. Just to thumb his nose at them, Harry would wear the jumper again.

He gave into the urge to smile as the sunlight poured into the room, filling in the corners and causing the shadows to retreat. He'd been happy to receive startled thank-yous when he surprised his summer-born friends with a special gift and card for them. Mrs. Longbottom had complained about Harry's spending, and yet didn't stop him from sending the birthday presents to Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Bulstrode, Daphne, and even Draco. Harry had kept his promise to the prat even though it rankled him.

 _Still..._ Harry touched the scar that no longer hurt. He had to tell someone about the pains. Obviously telling Snape the Death Eater about the dream was out of the question. It would only make the wizard insufferable in the coming school year if overt trust was given to him. Harry and Mrs. Longbottom were not on good enough terms for him to share something this important. Hermione would overly fret and insist he write to the headmaster, and this was not something he was comfortable telling Ginny or Sally-Anne.

Any of his other Slytherin year-mates couldn't be told either because they would report back to Draco who would report back to Snape, Draco's godfather. He _could_ write to Theodore, but his friend had enough on his plate learning of the ins and outs of being a werewolf. And Lupin was out because, according to Theodore's weekly letters, the wizard apparently had yet to forgive himself for attacking a student. Harry didn't want to trouble the adult further.

Running his fingers back and forth over his scar, Harry thought. He  _could_  send a note to Sirius Black, his godfather, but Sirius could hardly be counted on for a quick response due to his still-fugitive status. Despite having evidence, the Wizengamot hadn't yet brought the case forward, being much more interested in putting Harry's godfather back into Azkaban first. As a result, Harry didn't hear from Sirius for weeks and weeks, and he couldn't wait that long with something this important.

There was another adult Harry could count on who he might be able to trust with knowing. More importantly, the headmaster had connections that Harry did not. Maybe the elderly wizard would be able to track down where a Muggle gardener by the name of Bryce worked and ferret out Voldemort's hiding place or at least pass the information to someone who could do the same.

Banishing his worries about bothering Professor Dumbledore, Harry pulled out a sheet of greenish-hued parchment with a silver Slytherin crest in the corner and began to write:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Sorry to bother you, but I thought this was too important not to pass along. Twice in the past two months I've had vivid dreams where I woke up with the scar on my forehead hurting. The only time the scar ever hurts is in the presence of Voldemort, but obviously he is nowhere near or else I wouldn't be able to write this. Enclosed are the details of the dreams. I'm sorry I didn't think to write the first one down right after I had it, and that this was all I could remember._

_If I'm fretting over nothing, please let me know._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

After blotting the newly written letter, Harry took up the other sheet of parchment and folded the two together; he placed them both into an envelope and wrote Professor Dumbledore's name on it. A wax disc was fished out of a small box and placed where the flap met the back of the envelope. He grabbed the metal seal that bore the Longbottom crest and tapped the imprinting side with his wand like Mrs. Longbottom had shown. He then pressed the heated metal firmly to the wax and admired the imprinted seal when he lifted it away. He set the Longbottom metal seal aside.

Just as he turned the oil lamp off due to having plenty of light in the study, Neville yawned loudly by the study door. "What'cha doing up so early, Harry?"

"Couldn't sleep," Harry lied, adjusting his body language appropriately. "Is Hedwig back yet?"

Neville blinked at him. "Yes… She was raising a fuss in the room."

Harry swiftly passed him. Hedwig was in her open cage preening. On Harry's bed was a letter. "Hedwig, this needs to be delivered to Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts as soon as possible. Can you do this for me?"

She squawked testily, but took the letter from his fingers and flew out the window before Harry said another word.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the envelope and recognized Theodore's curly scrawl of handwriting on the front. He tore it open and read:

_Harry,_

_Da's finished the Port Key and received all the paperwork through the Ministry of Magic. Once we collect Hermione, we'll be arriving by Floo as per Mrs. Longbottom's instructions to the main drawing room at one tomorrow. The Port Key goes active at one-thirty. If we miss this, we'll miss the match between Bulgaria and Ireland, so don't drag your feet!_

_Cheers,_

_Theodore Nott_

With a grin, Harry was able to shelve his worries for the time being. Tomorrow he would be watching the Quidditch World Cup and all his worries would be shown to be nothing.

"Ready to do some squats, Neville?"

"Do we have to? They make my legs hurt," his brother complained.

Harry chuckled. "You're the one who wanted to exercise with me. I was waiting for you to wake up. Now, come on. Let's get started. If we're late to breakfast, Mrs. Longbottom's going to give us an earful."

With a heavy sigh, Neville began the exercises Harry had started him on the very first day of summer break. Neville's awkwardness had yet to completely leave him as he'd hit another growth spurt. Now, he towered over Harry. In the afternoons they did Quidditch scrimmages, practicing Chaser and Keeper techniques because it was a lot more fun than enchanting a balled-up sock to be a snitch when Neville was bollocks at catching it.

Unbeknownst to the Gryffindor, his fellow housemates would likely have trouble recognizing the stocky, lean-faced teen. Harry couldn't wait to see their reactions.

* * *

The next day Harry awoke to bright cheerful sunlight. "Neville, wake up!" He clapped once, startling his brother awake. "Let's do some lunges first. And then jumps and twists. And then—"

"Haaarryyy," Neville whined as he opened a single eye to check the time. "It's not even six yet," he groaned.

"Well I thought after breakfast we'd ride our brooms around the manor, since we won't be able to this afternoon with the Quidditch World Cup and then—"

"That's right!" Neville crowed with wide-eyed excitement. "I forgot!"

Harry laughed. "Forgot? You know England hasn't hosted a World Cup since before we were born!"

Neville looked sheepish as he looked at Harry's bedhead and self-consciously brushed his light brown hair down. "Alright, let's get started then."

Three hours later, hot, sweaty and entirely exhausted, they stumbled into the dining room clutching one another as they laughed.

Mrs. Longbottom's lower lip curled. "Go get cleaned up. Hurry now!"

They did so. If they'd been at school Harry and Neville would have simply cast a Refreshening Charm on one another, but underage wizards and witches were expressly forbidden from practicing magic at home, and obviously Mrs. Longbottom didn't want to bother wasting the energy when they were perfectly capable of bathing themselves.

Breakfast as usual was a boring affair. Mrs. Longbottom talked at length about Occlumency; casual conversation was forbidden and only the best manners were allowed at the table. No bodily noises or any break in social protocol was permitted. Neville, having been raised this way since a young age, had no difficulties whatsoever. It was Harry who was often made to stand with a conjured tankard of water on his head and two buckets of water in each hand for an hour when he invariably chewed with his mouth open or belched unexpectedly during meals.

He had soon grown bored standing there at attention that he began to do different things to keep his mind engaged. First he learned how to maintain careful balance in a squat. Then he lifted a foot and held it out away from him or he kept his head upright and leaned heavily to one side or the other. It was quite the challenge not to spill a single drop. Unfortunately when he did, Mrs. Longbottom made him stand longer.

That was why Harry was very, very careful to mind his manners so that he would not lose an hour of broomstick flying with Neville.

"The retrial for Sirius Black has just begun," Mrs. Longbottom said shrewdly to them. "Already Albus Dumbledore has provided irrefutable evidence that Peter Pettigrew is still very much alive. However, Lucius Malfoy has brought out all the old witnesses. I expect that it'll be a long, drawn-out affair."

Harry nodded acknowledging her words, but didn't say what he thought or ask any questions since she hadn't given them permission to speak. How could they even be holding a trial without Sirius Black on hand?

"When his Judgment of Absolution comes, Black will likely file a motion to adopt you, dear," Mrs. Longbottom said severely, ignoring Harry's unasked question. "My lawyers are prepared to fight for joint custody."

Why did she think that Black was innocent? Had she seen the proof in Harry's mind when he thought of his godfather? Why would Mrs. Longbottom want to have joint custody? Biting the inside of his cheek before he asked any of the questions dying to slip out of his mouth, Harry nodded slightly again. He continued to eat in the most polite manner he'd ever managed in his entire life.

"Sirius Black has no children of his own to pass the Black inheritance to, so his godson would be his next best option. The state of his mind after spending twelve years in Azkaban will likely be unsuitable to raise you." She primly wiped her lips and set her napkin down. That was the sign for the two boys to stop eating. "Well, I've enjoyed this, dears. Be ready for lunch to be served at noon." The moment she stood, Neville and Harry also stood.

"We await our next meal with you, milady," Harry said softly in a gentleman's voice, no matter how ridiculous he thought he sounded.

Mrs. Longbottom nodded and then exited the room as the clock struck ten.

Once she had gone, Harry sighed and flopped back into his chair without caring about his posture. He took his bowl and began to slurp the creamy porridge down without the spoon. Eating so slowly always left him ravenous!

"Good going, Harry. That's the first time Gran's not given you the buckets."

Finishing off the porridge, Harry grabbed three pieces of toast and chomped then down. After that, he began to suck down sweet segments of mandarin oranges directly from the center dish. Then he took a great swig of water to wash it all down. "We don't have tutoring today. Ready to fly more?"

"Yeah!"

"Race you out!" Harry was up in a flash, bolting out the door. Neville laughed, chasing after him. They sprang out the front door, scooping up the Cleansweep 5 brooms—Harry grabbed the worn-out Quaffle too—and hopped up into the air on the borrowed broom. Neville hovered above the three hedges that were considered to be the goal posts.

"Ready?" Harry called out.

"Ready!" Neville said excitedly.

Harry pushed the old broom to its limit, darting around the Longbottom Manor at a rather leisure pace. Immediately he swung himself upside-down as if a Bludger had nearly sailed right into him.

"Sloth Grip Roll!" Neville cried out eagerly from his Keeper Position.

Now, Harry zigzagged across the lawn in unpredictable patterns, imagining that he was dodging opponents.

"Wollongong Shimmy!" Neville called out.

Harry raced forward and darted up; Neville hovered right over the top of the hedge and smacked the ball back.

"That's a foul, Neville!" Harry caught the ball easily. "You can't sit inside the hoop to prevent a goal; it's called flacking!"

"Oh, sorry. You get a penalty then."

Harry flew to the center of the lawn and spun the broom around, gaining momentum. Braking suddenly, he released the ball and then Neville executed a beautiful Starfish and Stick, kicking the Quaffle back at him. "Nice work!" Harry yelled excitedly at him.

"You think so?" Neville said, still hanging by a hand and a hooked foot over the old broom as if he'd been born on the Cleansweep.

Harry rushed into the scoring area, while Neville hung from his broom and shot the Quaffle over the rightmost hedge. "You just lost ten points to the other team."

Neville swung his body around and re-mounted his broom. "That was hardly sporting, Harry," he said petulantly.

"Oh, I'm much nicer than anybody else you're likely to play."

They switched places and it was Harry's turn to block while Neville zigzagged and rolled on his broom. He was never far off the ground, only ten feet or so, but it was a marked improvement to when their feet were barely clearing stalks of grass. As soon as Neville's confidence improved, his shakes and tremors had stopped.

Harry thought the Starfish and Stick technique was rather slow and had been trying a vertical variation that wouldn't require one's broom to remain horizontal. He found it quite difficult since the broom desperately wanted to shoot straight up when pointed in that direction and the last thing Harry wanted was to perform a Starfish without Stick. He'd read about Keepers suffering awful injuries from the fall. He, however, was beginning to believe that the broom was charmed to fly 'up' when pointed in that direction.

They switched positions several more times before Dobby appeared below them.

"Masters Harry and Neville! Din-din's almost ready. Dobby is to tell the young Masters that the Mistress requires that Masters are freshened up and clothes changed. Dobby put out Muggle dress robes in the Masters' bedroom." With a happy smile, Dobby bowed and disappeared with a snap.

Giving each other a look, the brothers ran to the front door and dropped the brooms and Quaffle on the stone steps outside. Stomping upstairs, they quickly took turns showering.

When Harry left the bathroom, Neville's hands were nearly bound up in the long, reddish-gold Muggle tie. Harry went over to help him with it, since Mrs. Longbottom had only showed them how to tie it once. Neville was absolute bollocks at anything unless he'd practiced it fifty times.

Harry looped it over, under, and through, tightening it. "There," Harry said, patting Neville's tie into his waistcoat. Then Harry began to pull on and button up his own crisp, long-sleeved shirt while Neville combed his hair and snapped cufflinks on.

Neville looked at the clock anxiously. "Harry—"

"I've got it, Neville." His brother would just slow him down. Harry finished tying his green necktie and clipped it to the shirt beneath. He was slipping the buttons through the holes on his waistcoat in a relaxed, but quick manner. He turned to grab the outer robes, but saw that Neville was holding them up with a wry grin. Uncomplaining, Harry slipped his arms through.

They were dressed in a matching set of velvet tuxedo-like robes. Harry's was deep forest green, while Neville's was the color of burgundy wine. The only stylistic difference that Harry could see between them was that Neville's had a high collar on his jacket like a vicar's. A silk waistcoat and an old-fashioned long-sleeved white shirt beneath it nicely complemented the jacket and trousers. Without any frills, the sleeves of the jacket were actually fitted into cuffs, but the coat-tails hung down to the backs of their knees. Harry wondered why Dobby had called them Muggle dress robes.

"We're supposed to wear this to the match?" It seemed odd that they weren't dressed casually.

"Muggle clothing  _is_  very odd. Not very exciting," Neville said as he looked over Harry's shoulder at the mirror. Harry gave Neville's reflection a puzzled look.

"But you look good in anything," Neville's mirror self said.

Neville grinned at himself.

Taking the comb Neville held out, Harry combed his hair down as much as it would allow. Neville clipped the cufflinks on the cuff surrounding Harry's free hand, and Harry switched hands so Neville could do the other while the Boy-Who-Lived painstakingly attempted to part his hair in a manner that would be met with Mrs. Longbottom's approval.

The Matriarch had once made him put Stiffening gel in his hair to keep it flat, but his hair had spiked itself upright during lunch months ago and flung a gob of hair gel into a tureen of clam bisque. Ever since, Harry was told to comb it and nothing else.

"You look amazing, sir," Harry's mirror image said when Harry peered closer at his hair. Harry dropped the comb onto the vanity, fiddling with the cuffs to make them more comfortable. "Thanks."

Above the door of their room, a cuckoo clock flung its doors open; the small, wooden yellow finch perched on its stand wheezed airily, "You'll be late if you don't hurry downstairs."

Without comment, they jogged down the hallway and stopped short of the stairwell. They each adjusted their jackets and double-checked the cuff links at their sleeves. Neville, being old-hat at this, strolled down the stairs in his most regal manner.

"Master Neville Lawrence Longbottom, only Heir to the illustrious Longbottom family, enters the dining room, milady," Dobby announced loftily.

"Good afternoon, Grandmother," Neville said, executing a perfect courtly bow. He took a seat.

Harry took a deep breath, hoping he didn't blow this. Chin up, head and shoulders back, he slid his hand down the bannister, doing his best to move in an elegant manner.

"Master Harry James Potter, Blood-Ward of the Longbottoms and last Scion of the eminent Potter family, enters the dining room, milady."

Harry was careful to keep his lips in a pleasant smile, not too broad, but not too pursed. He bowed, taking up the Matriarch's bejeweled hand, and dropped a light kiss, neither short nor sloppy, on her first knuckle. "An honor, my lady."

She nodded in approval and Harry very carefully released her hand, bowing once more. He sat down at the seat across from Neville.

Mrs. Longbottom cleared her throat, and Harry immediately corrected his posture without the noisy, impolite sigh that always agitated the woman. "Very good, gentlemen. Right on time," she said just as the nearest clock struck twelve.

Immediately their plates filled with a delicious appetizer, and they began their entirely too-tedious meal.

By the end of it, Harry wished he could cast a Cooling Charm on himself. The velvet suit was much too warm for his general comfort. On the other hand, focusing on his discomfort was the only reason why he'd been able to deal with Mrs. Longbottom's prattling about the illustrious lineage of the Notts. Apparently creating a guide on Dark Creatures was not the only reason why they were infamous. A wizard by the name of Cantankerous Nott had meticulously ferreted out the pedigrees of many upstanding Wizarding families. The Potters were among those families kicked out from the many circles of Wizarding high society simply for having lineage that wasn't 'pure'. What was left was twenty-eight families, known as the Sacred Twenty-Eight—the term Sally-Anne had used with Harry only a few months ago. The Longbottoms were one of them.

"An excellent meal, Grandmother," Neville said without sounding like he was mocking her.

"Yes, it was." She placed the napkin down, and they stood up simultaneously. "Our guests will be arriving shortly. Escort me, Neville."

"As you wish, Grandmother." Neville walked around the table and offered an arm to her. The aged woman gently laid her arm atop his, and they walked to the drawing room together. Mourning that he wouldn't be able to tuck in more food, Harry grabbed a couple of rolls and stuck them in a pocket. Behind the two, Harry was careful not to step on the train of Mrs. Longbottom's luxurious, golden-yellow silk dress. It had fleur-de-lis embroidered with gold-thread into every inch of it; actual gold-hued peacock feathers rimmed the high collar of her long-sleeved dress. It no longer looked as moth-eaten and faded as it once had. He suspected that Dobby had something to do with it.

Neville helped his grandmother sit down on a sitting couch, and then the two fourteen-year-olds sat down on either side of her behind the small, round table in the drawing room. Ever since Dobby had come to Longbottom Manor, every room in the place had been cleaned and aired out regularly, injecting life into what might have otherwise been a drab and dreary place.

Back straight and head up, Harry kept his eyes on the fireplace where a fire was merrily burning away several logs. He'd only ever seen Floo magic in action once and that was last year...

"Be gentle with these suits, dears. You will need them later in the year," Mrs. Longbottom said with a stern tone.

"May I ask what event we will be attending, Grandmother?" Neville always managed to speak politely without sounding rude. It was probably why Harry hadn't been allowed to ask questions.

"That is not for me to tell you," she said and then opened her fan agitatedly in her hand.

The Notts were a minute away from being late, and the worse thing to do was keep Mrs. Longbottom waiting.

The clock chimed, and Mrs. Longbottom slammed her fan shut. "How inconsiderate—"

Suddenly, green fire burst out from the fireplace, causing Harry to jerk back in surprise. In the flame's wake, four soot-covered figures stood: Mr. Nott, Lupin, Theodore, and Hermione. Mr. Nott took out a wand and waved it over the four of them, and they were instantly shades lighter. Resembling bodyguards the Notts were dressed in black Muggle suits, while Lupin was wearing his usual dull-colored and shabby Muggle suit. Harry's ex-professor looked healthier; his once-pale skin now sported a dark tan and he looked at ease. The cheerful Theodore had bulked up some, looking a bit less stringy.

Hermione was wearing an airy, lilac dress that hung down to her knees and a tiny trinket on the end of a silver chain about her neck. Her bushy hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her features had softened further over the summer. She looked very pleased to be there, though her eyes were scanning the room with intense curiosity. She sent Harry a small smile, whereas Theodore didn't even look at Harry as he smiled fondly at Mrs. Longbottom.

"Augusta," the old, grandfatherly man said, "I terribly regret our tardiness. We were delayed by Ministry officials due to their suspicion of one of our party." Mr. Nott's eyes drifted purposefully towards Lupin, whose shoulders hunched inwardly some, before Theodore sharply jabbed a spot in his lower back. No longer hunched, the older werewolf gave him an unamused frown.

"It's ridiculous," Hermione said loftily, "to delay us because Mr. Lupin's a registered werewolf. I think—" She cut her angry rant off when Theodore nudged her with a gentle elbow. She immediately went silent, looking at the floor and twisting her fingers together.

" _I think_  it's good they hadn't delayed us longer than they had," Theodore said with a catty grin. "Don't you, Mrs. Longbottom?"

The moment Neville's grandmother stood up, Harry and Neville stood up as well. The three wizards bowed deeply towards the Longbottom Matriarch, while Hermione curtsied effortlessly.

"Yes, I imagine with the Quidditch World Cup, security is much tighter," Mrs. Longbottom finally said and their guests straightened. "I extend a proud welcome to our humble manor, Prah, and to your son and guests as well." Closed fan in hand, she curtsied in a very dignified manner. Harry hurriedly bowed when he saw Neville lean forward.

Theodore barely muffled a snicker. Harry shot him a glare. Hermione's eyes were darting between them but she didn't say anything. Neville managed the best bow between them. As soon as Neville straightened, Harry did as well.

"Thank you for the welcome, milady," Lupin said graciously.

Mrs. Longbottom sniffed in response, snapping her fan open to flap it in her face.

"Milady, I have said before that I much prefer my middle name," Mr. Nott said, drawing Neville's grandmother from her long stare at Lupin.

"Of course. I'd forgotten your preference, Bailey."

"Shall we head outside…?" The grey-haired man asked softly.

"Yes, that would please me."

The old witch offered her arm to Mr. Nott and was escorted out the room. At his grandmother's pointed look when she passed, Neville offered an arm to Hermione, who hesitantly placed her arm on top of his. The four swept out the room as if it had been staged.

Theodore gave Harry a look-over. "How long have you been prancing around like that?"

Harry rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. He was smart enough to keep his manners about him with Mrs. Longbottom's abnormally sharp ears.

"He looks nice," Lupin commented.

The younger werewolf laughed. "I bet that suit chafes. Doesn't it, Harry?"

With a mischievous look, Harry bowed in a courtly manner and then offered an arm. "Do you need an escort, milord?"

Playing along, Theodore covered his mouth and tittered. "Oh, yes, Mr. Potter." Then, despite the fact Harry sent him a short-lived glare, his friend delicately placed his arm atop Harry's.

"You were supposed to laugh, not agree to be escorted," Harry hissed under his breath.

Theodore laughed politely against the back of his hand. "You've certainly learned how to be a gentleman under Mrs. Longbottom's guidance," he said with a lofty tone.

Their ex-DADA professor cleared his throat in a hurried manner, looking about the richly decorated living room. "As amusing as your antics are, Harry, I doubt you'd want to walk out like that."

"Oh pishposh! Let him have fun, Uncle Remy," Theodore said, allowing himself to be led after masterfully turning Harry toward the door.

With deliberately orchestrated steps of elegance, Harry glided them out of the room and towards the open front door, holding Theodore's arm up as if he were a lady.

"What precisely are you doing?" The Matriarch said archly when Harry and Theodore came down the front steps. Her eyes, normally sharp and unreadable, sparkled with barely contained humor.

Amusement was the last thing Harry had expected. "My Lady, I merely performed my gentlemanly duty as escort." His lips quirked as Theodore drew his hand away.

"Smooth," Theodore said under his breath without moving his lips and then pulled away, stepping towards the two adults. He brought his hands up, clasping them together in an imploring manner. "I apologize that I have taken such bold liberties with the newest member to your family, milady. I was overcome with excitement to be here visiting a very  _close_  friend I have not seen since the end of school term."

Harry bit down on his inner cheek as laughter bubbled up from his chest from Theodore's dramatics. Neville was gaping at the both of them with what looked like shock. Hermione's eyebrows had lifted to the middle of her forehead, while her face scrunched into a confused look.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Longbottom lifted an eyebrow at the old wizard, who showed no particular interest in his son's antics. "Make sure you are not…  _overcome_ again, young Nott. There is a measure of decorum that must be maintained out in public," Mrs. Longbottom said. She turned to Nott's da, "We should move along before it gets much later."

From a small black pouch, Mr. Nott withdrew a long pewter gray shower rod. He lifted an arm to check the time using a Muggle timepiece strapped to his wrist. "Come around everyone. It will activate shortly."

The three adults and four teenagers converged around the Nott Patriarch. Everyone leaned forward to grab a bit of the shower rod. In moments, a hook took hold of Harry by the navel and all seven of them were spinning around in a swirl of color.


	2. The Gallant Losers

Seconds later, they touched down gently. Harry looked around, rather disoriented as to where they were. There was the strong smell of fish and saltwater… Were they near the sea? At least it was much cooler.

"Thirty-eight past one from Longbottom Manor," a voice said.

They had arrived at what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles though ineptly. The wizard with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague a kilt and poncho.

Mr. Nott silently handed the shower rod to the kilted wizard who tossed it into a large box of used Portkeys. Harry could see an old worn out boot, an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football among a whole pile of junk.

"Staying only for the day, then?" The wizard in the tweed suit asked them.

"Yes, only for the match and then we'll be off by Apparation," Lupin responded.

"Ah," his colleage said and then glanced at his shabby attire. "Would you be the werewolf of the party? If so, I need to see your papers."

"Yes, I have them right here," the adult said, pulling a thick roll of papers with official looking seals from a pouch hanging from his shoulder. "Run along, Harry, Theo. I'll catch up in no time."

"Right," Theodore said, and they caught up with the rest of their group already meters ahead.

Walking regally, Mrs. Longbottom was still on Mr. Nott's arm, while Neville and Hermione were a step ahead of the elders.

"Welcome to the venue of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch World Cup," Theodore said. "Quaint village, isn't it?"

Nodding, Harry looked about, curious about their location. They were obviously in a Muggle community, since Muggle bystanders were gawking at their choice of clothing. "We're dressed to try to blend in?"

"Yes. To be honest, most Muggles think we're going to some costume ball in the woods." Theodore waved at the densely foggy area to their right. "But we aren't actually going there."

Harry peered more closely and the fog seemed to come apart into fine mist. He saw that in the distance there was a whole village of tents. "Why?"

"Do you fancy walking through a small city of tents? I don't. A hundred thousand people are packed together over there, all brimming full of energy for the match. No doubt that there are pickpockets and pranksters, too."

Even with his friend's dismissal, the tents beyond looked rather interesting and small among the figures milling about. Harry could hear the sound of fiddles being played...

"You look like you want to go check it out," Theodore whispered conspiratorially.

"Harry, dear, you don't need to associate with that sort of riffraff," Mrs. Longbottom's voice called out ahead of them.

Theodore's eyebrows quirked in surprise as he looked forward. He gestured towards the Matriarch and then pointed at his ears.

Harry nodded, sighing.

His friend patted his shoulder. "There, there. You're not missing much anyway. Just paltry magical trinkets you've never seen before."

"Oh, that doesn't make me want to go at all," Harry said with a slight glare.

"And I'm sure there are Hogwarts students we know at this very instant co-mingling with one another, placing bets… nor would I be surprised if students from Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, or the Salem Witches' Institute were here…"

"What?" Harry asked feeling rather stupid about the last part.

There came a soft scoff. "I know you mainly study hexes and curses, but you should brush up on some basic knowledge known to the average witch or wizard." A pale hand was flung out towards the tents. "What I listed are the top schools in Bulgaria, France, and the United States, though it's a bit fuzzy about where precisely the first two are."

"Oh." They'd entered a forest now and followed a very wide path for twenty minutes. Theodore told Harry a little bit of trivia about each of the schools. All three were co-habited by either gender, and that each of them had a specialty much like how Hogwarts was known for its students trained in Transfigurations and Potions. Finally, there was a lull in the influx of information; Harry could hear waves crashing to the left of them and growing louder. They were obviously somewhere near a sea bank.

"So, you're doing alright? With Lupin mentoring you?"

His friend's grin was broad. "Yeah, he's a great teacher. I won't lie and say it's been easy, but it certainly isn't as bad as I expected." He leaned closer. "The transition—"

"Transition?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, having expected Lupin. "Draco, you prat. What're you doing here?"

"To watch the Quidditch World Cup. Where've you been?" The Malfoy heir gave him a condescending look and tsked. "Oh, that's right. Ignoring my mirror-calls."

"You could have sent me a letter instead," Harry said, knowing very well that Draco's father wouldn't have allowed that.

Draco's lips pressed together, and then he looked at the both of them with narrowed eyes. "Well. I see Theodore has succeeded where I have failed."

"What?" Harry said for the second time in the past ten minutes, feeling like a complete idiot.

"Jealous, Draco?" Theodore jeered.

Wait… Jealous? Harry frowned. Surely Draco wasn't jealous of Harry's friendship with Theodore?

" _Hardly_. I only need to wait until you royally strike out so that he can benefit from someone with more experience," Draco sneered.

"Even if I did—which won't happen—you  _are not_  his type."

"How do you know what his type is?" As they walked, Draco gave Harry an appraising look-over. "I wager you haven't made it past the kissing phase with him."

Harry halted in the sea breeze and surrounded by trees in the largely empty forest lane. "Stop talking, you bloody prat," he said with atypical harshness, his face hot from anger. "I'm  _not_  dating Theo. I don't even  _like_  blokes."

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled behind them; they too were wearing black suits.

"Ah," Draco said, while Theodore was shooting Harry a worried look. "Judging by Theo's reaction, I can see neither of you want others to know." Draco's expression turned more gleeful. "I could keep this a secret… for a favor."

"Take your bleeding  _favors_  and go dive off a cliff. There's one right over there." Harry pointed to the left in case the bastard missed it. Then he began to walk again. "Come on, Theo." His friend seemed to flinch a little under Harry's gaze. "Why is it that everyone is wearing black? Is there a funeral I've missed?" Theodore couldn't stifle his laughter. Harry grimaced. "It's not funny."

"Sorry," Theodore said, not looking sincere.

Answering smugly to Harry's right, Draco raised an arm to gesture towards himself and the others. "We of Pureblood know that black silk is the fashion of the day." He reached forward, plucking nonexistent lint off Harry's shoulder, "And that crushed velvet hasn't been in style since the Dark Ages."

"How I've missed your unpleasant jibes," Harry said with a tone laced with sarcasm, stepping to the other side of Theodore. He addressed his friend again. "Honestly, I would have liked to wear a shirt and denim trousers instead."

"Harry Potter, keeping it classy." Theodore flourished his hands towards Harry's attire. "I can just imagine the reviews on the fashion page of the  _Daily Prophet_ now. 'Boy-Who-Lived Sparks New Muggle Fashion Movement With Affordable Fabrics!' "

"Shut it, you git," Harry said and shoved him playfully. He froze for a moment and then dropped his arms. "Sorry, I overstepped myself."

Theodore blinked at him with a puzzled expression and then grinned. "No offense taken. I guess Neville is very hands-on with you?" He casually slung an arm around Harry's neck.

Throwing off the arm, Harry glanced towards the smirking blond and his two henchmen, who were pretending not to watch. "Don't take any more  _bold liberties_ with me or I won't be able to convince anyone that we  _aren't_  dating," Harry retorted.

Theodore only grinned.

"Very nice work on Longbottom," Draco said with obnoxious pomposity, changing the subject. Harry ignored him.

"I thought so too," Theodore said, "Did you put him on a diet?"

"No. It's regular exercise I think."

"You're training someone up for the Gryffindor team, aren't you?" Theodore waggled his eyebrows. "Worried the Slytherin Team won't be kept on its toes without any good teams to play?"

Shaking his head, Harry glanced towards his blood-brother who was still arm-in-arm with Hermione many meters ahead of them. "Honestly, if he's good anywhere it'd be as Keeper."

"I think we ought to break his legs before we find out," Draco said lowly.

Sidestepping Theodore, Harry feigned punching Draco in the face, and he stumbled back, clutching his face. Draco was blinking a second later when he realized his nose wasn't broken. "Get back, you oafs. I'm fine!" Crabbe and Goyle obediently stepped back.

"Transylvanian Tackle. I've perfected it this summer," Harry said casually, shaking his fist as he began to walk down the path once more. "And if I find out you've bullied Neville this year, you  _will_  be sorry."

"I was joking! Honestly, you think I would hurt someone you care about?" Draco clutched his nose looking sullen.

"Yes," Theodore and Harry answered together.

"Given the right motivation," Harry added at the hurt look on Draco's scowling face. "You've got a ruthless decisiveness. I often spend too much time mulling over my options."

"A picky eater, eh?" came the unlikely jibe from Crabbe. Goyle snorted and began to laugh boisterously. The gaggle of adults in front of them paused, Lupin—and Mr. Malfoy, surprisingly—among them. The Longbottom Matriarch glanced back at them with a very cross look; the two enormous teens quickly shut up.

Hearing that the crash of waves had grown louder, Harry sighed and looked off towards the sea that had appeared on the left of them. Neville and Hermione to the front of their procession looked far more inviting than hanging around his fellow Slytherins. The Gryffindors didn't tease him nearly as badly or as often.

"Shall we explain the joke, your Grace?" Theodore gave him a more serious look.

"Do you really want to spoil his boyhood innocence so early?" Draco countered arrogantly. "Perhaps his Grace is merely a late bloomer."

"You only say that because you want to corrupt him first," Theodore said with a wicked grin.

"I hardly think you'll be able to seduce—"

"I'm not that stupid, you twits, so the both of you will  _shut up_  because I am  _not_ dating Theodore and have no designs to do so in the future," Harry said with a tone of finality. He quickened his pace to a light jog and caught up with the group walking far ahead of them. He passed by the adults, not missing the way that Draco's father looked at him, like a pesky bug to be stepped on. Despite Mr. Malfoy beside him, Lupin looked angry but unintimidated.

"Stay with our group," came the old witch's voice.

Harry turned and bowed slightly as he slowed to a sideways walk. "Of course, my lady."

Mrs. Longbottom resumed asking questions about Mr. Nott's travels in Tasmania. Her escort still held her arm in a gentlemanly fashion; Harry's arm would have tired out ages ago. Harry hastened to get ahead of the adults to where Neville and Hermione were chatting about the upcoming school year.

"Harry! Glad you could join us," Hermione said with unfeigned happiness. She glanced over her shoulder and when she looked back to the front she made a slightly disgusted face.

Neville swung his head around to see what she had seen. "What is it?"

"I can guess why Malfoy's father is talking to Professor—to Mr. Lupin." Harry's brother was still looking back with a confused expression. "Never mind that, Neville. I think you'd be more interested that your grandmother might be looking to remarry."

" _What_?"

"She and Nott's dad are  _flirting_. Don't tell me you haven't noticed? Besides, Theodore alluded to that possibility after I arrived from my house."

Harry tried not to make a face. He was certainly not about to tell them about the recent teasing by Theodore and Draco.

"Oh…  _Oh_. Yeah, that makes sense. Gran's been lonely for as long as I can remember," said the other teen. "But, 'Mione, she swore she wouldn't marry another old wizard. They have a tendency of dropping dead around her like my grandfather."

"Ah. Well, maybe she'll change her mind," Hermione said thoughtfully and then she turned to Harry with a very blank expression while they continued to walk at a leisurely pace. "Harry… you know Neville and I are non-judgmental about who you date—"

Harry could not suppress the annoyed scoff. When he saw that they both were giving him a look, he ground out, "I swear on my life that we aren't dating. It was only a bit of fun between friends."

"But I've never seen you with girls," Neville said, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Because I'm not interested," Harry said flatly. "I don't have time to deal with a girlfriend. Besides, who knows what this year is going to bring me. I'm better off without."

"Oh. … So, you would have a girlfriend if you weren't falling into trouble frequently?" Hermione asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Harry shrugged.

"Then, you'd go out with Ginny? Or maybe Sally-Anne?"

He blinked at her. "I haven't thought about it." He glanced at Neville who still looked a bit confused. "What now, Neville?"

"I'm not you, but even with all the trouble in the world I'd still want a girlfriend. I mean, don't you want to kiss them?" His brother smiled at Hermione, whose face turned a little pink as she looked away.

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. Was this what he had to look forward to as he got older? Constantly getting badgered about finding a partner? "Girls are nice, but I really don't see what the fuss is about."

"Oh. … Not even a little kiss?" Neville asked curiously.

"Not even a little," Harry repeated.

"Then you like blokes," Neville said simply.

" _No_ , Neville." Harry closed his eyes, counting to three as he took a deep breath. Sometimes his brother had trouble  _listening_. "Just because I don't want to kiss a girl, doesn't mean I want to kiss a boy. Really, kissing is about the last thing I'd want to do with anyone. Not with Voldemort breathing down my neck every year."

Neville made that little noise he always did when he heard the 'V' name. Harry tried not to get irritated.

Hermione frowned, giving Harry a look. "What about afterwards? Don't you want to be with someone? Get married and have a family?"

"No, not really…" He was fourteen. Growing up and having kids never came to mind. Harry mostly thought of Quidditch and homework and living until he was ninety-nine at least. Why would he care about  _kissing_? "You can't expect me to enjoy mashing my lips against someone else's when I've got more important things to think about."

His classmates looked quite confused at him.

"Like surviving to adulthood?" When they gave him a strange look, he sighed.

" _Ah_ ," Hermione said biting her lower lip in thought. "I  _think_  I understand. You want to spend all your energies on the present instead of worrying about what hasn't come yet."

" _Yes_." At least somebody seemed to understand him.

"But it's not really so bad," Neville insisted.

" _You've_  kissed someone?" Hermione looked quite doubtful. Personally, Harry didn't appreciate the imagery of his brother kissing anyone. Flobberworms wrapped around one another in a slimy manner was not what Harry considered a good time.

"A gentleman never kisses and tells." Neville's face was much pinker than Hermione's had been. "Anyway, it's nice. So, don't think it's terrible just because it looks unpleasant."

" _Nice_  to have someone stick their tongue in my mouth? I think I'd bite it off if someone tried," Harry said, wishing they would get bored with the topic. At least, they were nearly to the end of the forest.

"I suppose on an aesthetic level it does look quite vile, but I can't imagine it's so awful if people enjoy it so much," Hermione said with a clinical tone.

Obviously they were not going to get bored with talk of snogging any time soon. "I would rather talk about the upcoming game."

They emerged from the treeline and moved into the cool shadow of a gigantic silver stadium. Though Harry could only see a fraction of it, he knew it would easily be able to hold several cathedrals. He'd been to one before when he was very small on one of the only class trips, since he'd managed to not do anything  _odd_ for once…

"So," Hermione said, "Viktor Krum is ranked as the best Seeker in the International Quidditch League."

"Yes, and he's got a mind for strategy. I read his book on Seeking. If you want, I'll let you borrow it."

"I'd love that, thanks. I need some more books for leisure reading, and I've always meant to learn more about Quidditch because, you know." She suddenly looked quite distracted, pushing a flyaway hair behind her ear. "Because everyone else knows so much about it."

"You're excited about the match between Ireland and Bulgaria then?"

"Of course, I am," Hermione said with a semi-affronted tone, "Otherwise, I would have stayed home."

Then Neville began to excitedly list off the stats of each team, all of which Harry already knew since they had researched the teams together.

The late afternoon sun was slanting over the stadium. There weren't any wizards and witches waiting outside the entrance. The trio waited until the others caught up. Mr. Malfoy had vanished, but Draco and his two lackeys had remained. As usual, Draco and Theodore were quietly quarrelling about something; Harry briefly wondered if it was about him and then immediately hoped they weren't really.

"Prime seats!" said the witch checking the tickets that Mr. Nott handed her. "Top Box. Straight upstairs, midmost floor."

Draco provided three tickets to the clerk as Harry and the others moved up the stairs, which were carpeted in rich purple. Harry's group was the only one climbing the stairs. Once they reached the correct level, they walked forward into a spacious room with thirty-six purple-and-gilt chairs in three rows on either side of an enormous aisle splitting them down the center. Harry looked out and saw that they were eye level with the goal posts without anything obstructing their view.

Harry took a seat in the middle front left row, amazed. Rows upon rows of stands were crammed together in a cluttered fashion. He leaned forward, seeing that from this distance the oval field looked as smooth as the velvet jacket he wore. Craning his head up, he saw a great blackboard, easily the size of a double-decker bus. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling across it and then wiping it clean.

"You gawk like a country bumpkin, Harry," Draco said to his right. Neville had taken a seat on Harry's left, Hermione beside Neville.

"How many professional Quidditch matches have you gone to?" Harry said with reproach.

"I can't remember. Probably thousands."

"There you go," Harry said gesturing towards the pitch. "This is my first one. Don't ruin it."

"Then I suppose I'll give you these…" Draco offered a pack with two soft cylindrical objects that looked suspiciously like ear plugs. "I won't need them since the veela won't have any effect on me."

"Have any more?" Neville was looking hopefully over Harry's shoulder.

"I'm all out." A disgusted look flickered over Draco's features as Hermione leaned forward with a pack in her hand.

"Theo gave me a pack of ear plugs, Neville, but I've read all about veela. They won't have an effect on me." The bushy-haired Gryffindor passed it to the Longbottom heir.

"Is there a concession stand?" Harry asked. He was feeling a bit hungry and only had two rolls to tide him until the match ended, which could take hours.

Draco raised a hand and snapped. A very timid-looking house-elf barely taller than their chests gazed up at him cautiously. She was wearing a fluffy, blue bath towel like a toga. A gold rope bound her outfit up in the middle.

"Zippy, bring us some snacks."

"R-right away, Master Dra-raco." The house-elf disappeared with a crack.

"That poor thing," Hermione was saying loudly to Neville, "Enslaved to the Malfoy family. No wonder it stammers."

"You have a house-elf?" Harry lifted an eyebrow at Draco. House-elves couldn't come cheap, or Draco's father would have replaced Dobby.

"My father decided it was time that I had my own," the other Slytherin said, appearing to ignore Hermione's remarks. "Zippy's always had that stammer. It's probably why father got her so cheaply."

Suddenly uneasy, Harry glanced around and saw that they were the only ones in the Top box. Harry had this horrible suspicion that elderly Mr. Nott and Mrs. Longbottom might have gone off to neck somewhere… and then he realized something else as he looked towards Crabbe and Goyle, who squirmed under his gaze.

Seated directly behind Harry with Lupin in the seat to the right of him, Theodore blinked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Harry narrowed his eyes at the blond prat seated next to him.

"Oh," Draco whispered as if he only just realized that Harry was still nervous about his father being around and then smirked. "Don't worry. You're not even old enough to claim your birthright as head of the Potter line. No point in making the feud public until you're of equal status…"

"Why?" Harry thought there was probably some political reason behind it.

Draco leaned a bit closer, "You see, people would want to know what you'd done to offend my father so terribly. There'd be a scandal."

" _Oh_." Well, that worked to Harry's benefit if Lucius Malfoy was keeping the slight against him hushed up. The last thing he wanted was someone else to make an extraordinary effort to make his life in the Wizarding world a hellish existence.

"What are you two talking about?" Neville's eyes were twinkling with curiosity.

"Probably nothing that they want to share with the rest of us. How much longer before the game begins?" Hermione leaned back to look at Theodore. Crabbe gave her a disgusted look, while Goyle maintained a halfway cordial expression.

Lupin waved his wand and glowing numbers appeared. "Hour, hour and a half, give or take a few."

"And why did we get here so early?" She looked as exasperated as Harry felt.

"Gran said to avoid the rabble," Neville supplied. "She doesn't much care for people who aren't…"

"Who aren't what? Pureblood?"

Neville flushed. "Unless they prove themselves."

"Like any proper magical person worth their salt," Draco said airily.

"I think blood purism is nonsense," Hermione shot back.

"Of course you would, Granger. It's in your best interest to believe that."

"And it's in your best interest to believe having a 'pure' bloodline means anything! Otherwise, what good would all that inbreeding do?" She scoffed.

"How dare you, you filthy—"

" _Magic is magic_ ," Harry said loudly over their argument. "It shouldn't matter whether you're descended from Merlin or a house-elf. So, shut up about it, the both of you. You're ruining the ambiance."

" _Ambiance_ ," Theodore snickered behind a hand.

"You shut up too," Harry said, his face growing hot.

"Harry, only blood-traitors and Muggle-borns believe that drivel," Draco inspected his nails.

"I didn't think your memory was so short that I'd have to remind you that Salazar Slytherin's portrait said it too."

"Come off it," Goyle said to Harry, "Slytherin, himself, not havin' any problems with Muggle in the blood? That's bollocks, that is."

"I  _spoke_  to him last year. I'm sorry that I haven't yet found his journals to put the controversy to rest," Harry grumbled. His classmates went silent with that reminder. Neither of the Gryffindors looked surprised; Hermione must've told Neville about it. Lupin, on the other hand, kept his gaze squarely fixed on Harry. Harry felt a bit uncomfortable by the attention.

"Slytherin's portrait?"

"Right, you wouldn't know," Harry said to the adult, "By chance, I woke up the Founder's portrait last year and he said the  _only_  reason why he didn't like to teach Muggle-borns was that they're more likely to be murdered by their kin than Purebloods."

"Oh," Lupin said, giving Harry a very strange look.

"I thought you said Muggles weren't all savages," Draco said waspishly.

Hermione began irately, "They're  _not—"_

"Our house's Founder lived nearly a thousand years ago," Harry interrupted, "Muggles  _have_  become much more progressive in matters of crime and justice. They don't allow child mistreatment any more than the magical world does.  _And_ a large amount of them don't even believe in magic so that cuts down on hate crimes against magical folk."

"Then, how come you were mistreated?" Harry really wished his brother hadn't brought it up.

"The Dursleys are different. They knew about magic because of my mother, but they didn't really understand it. In their minds, they thought they were doing me a favor by trying to take my magic away from me so I couldn't hurt anyone in the Muggle world," Harry said. At the sickened looks on their faces, he continued, "I don't suppose you've ever heard the adage: Spare the rod, spoil the child?"

"I have," Lupin said gruffly, "Muggle Studies class, seventh year. Comes from the Judeo-Christian faith tradition. Essentially, it's the idea that if you let a child run amok without any sort of consequences, then that child will grow into a spoiled, selfish individual."

"Yes, exactly. They saw my accidental magic as a form of misbehavior, so..." Harry gestured aimlessly.

"I shouldn't have asked you." Neville looked absolutely miserable.

"Neville, it's alright to be curious."

"But  _taking away your magic_? That's impossible. They wanted you to do the impossible!" His voice cracked, and then he began to tremble.

With one arm, Harry gave him a large hug, something he'd gotten into a habit of doing whenever Neville was upset. "Yes, it was impossible by the way they were going about it. If only they had known that all they had to do was encourage me to use magic until my undeveloped magical channels burnt out."

" _Don't even joke about that_!" Neville wailed, clinging to him. Harry was surprised to see him in tears.

"Oh, quit your caterwauling, Longbottom. Obviously, Harry's gotten over it," Draco said tightly.

"It's still upsetting," Hermione said with a sharp tone as she patted Neville on the back. "The neglect Harry's relatives put him through shouldn't have happened in this day and age. The Dursleys ought to be in jail for it. They were let off too lightly if you ask me."

Harry's brother pulled back wiping at his face frantically. He was hiccuping in a rather distressed manner that Harry had to pat his shoulder reassuringly.

"Can't now. They don't even remember who I am." Harry chuckled at that.

At that, Draco had a nasty look on his face.

With a pop, Zippy reappeared with a gigantic tray above her head. It was filled with a large assortment of candies, pasties, pies, cakes, ice cream sandwiches, and numerous other delicious snacks. Harry picked up a lemon pasty and offered it to Neville, who took it and immediately took a large bite of it between sniffles. Then Harry said, "Thanks, Zippy."

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. The house-elf shrilly squeaked, setting the tray to float in front of them. She pulled the neck of her bath towel over her head like a turtle. Harry blinked. "Zippy, i-is ver-ry sor-r-ry, Har-r-ry P-p-p-po-t-t-ter."

"Hold on," Harry said, "You don't need to—" Draco raised a hand and lightly touched Harry's shoulder, shaking his head slightly.

With an even, calming tone, Draco ordered, "Very good, Zippy. Bring us something to drink."

"R-right away, M-m-master Dra-raco." The yellow-eyed house-elf disappeared.

"What've you done to that poor house-elf?" Hermione looked as if she might conjure a stick to beat the prat if he answered wrong.

"Zippy was removed from an abusive home," Draco said slowly as if she was five. "Any time  _anyone_  expresses gratitude, the poor thing cowers. I would appreciate it if you didn't unnecessarily distress my house-elf again, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly and took a large bite of an ice cream sandwich. Hermione was blinking owlishly towards Draco, while Neville's eyes kept flicking between the two. Harry noticed that Theodore—and Lupin—stayed well out of the argument, which was likely the smartest option to avoid the ire of either the brightest fourth-year witch or the richest, snobbiest prat Harry had ever known.

"Granger," Draco said over his nails, like he was speaking to someone of very little importance, "I find myself unreasonably curious about how a community of supposedly nice Muggles where Harry lived didn't notice that he was malnourished?"

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it as if she was having second thoughts about answering.

"I was never taken to the doctor, you prat," Harry said. "Did those records about my mistreatment never mention that?" At Draco's blank look, he clarified, "A Muggle doctor is the equivalent of a Healer. I only ever saw the school nurse, who's really more like a mediwitch in the Muggle world—I think—and she believed the Dursleys and my teachers when they told her that I was a compulsive liar. She just thought I was exceptionally short and skinny. I didn't look starved."

"Ah. Surely  _someone_  would have noticed the bruises and the broken nose…"

"Most of the attacks by Dudley and his gang happened  _after_  school. When I would wake the next day, any evidence would be gone, which meant there was nothing to show anybody who might have taken me from the Dursleys. Muggles don't have diagnostic spells, and they expect things to heal over a long timeframe not overnight."

A sort of horrified silence descended around Harry. At least no one was looking at him as something to be pitied.

"Muggles should not be raising magical children," Draco said with resounding certainty.

Harry had the disturbing thought of legislation passing through the Ministry of Magic that required the removal of Muggle-borns from their families. "If anything, the Ministry should have sent someone to do a magical check-up to be sure nothing was amiss. Oh, and training videos on how to properly take care of magical children would help. I mean, a Muggle can't exactly go into a store and say, 'Yes, I would like an educational book on raising my magical child. These strange events keep occurring around them… I can't make any sense of it. Could you help me?' People would think they were mad."

"A valid point. Muggle parents of a magical child should be required to go through a certification process as well as pass the Magical Non-Aversion Inventory with high marks…"

"So long as it's free or heavily subsidized," Hermione interrupted. "You can't expect Muggles to be able to afford much, can you?"

Harry was surprised when Draco nodded with a thoughtful frown.

Zippy reappeared with the tray of drinks. Harry grabbed the pumpkin juice, nodding graciously at the tiny house-elf who looked at him fearfully but did not appear so distressed.

As the stadium filled up with people, a roar began to fill the air consistently like the crashing waves of the sea near the forest. Harry could not see anyone on the far side of the stadium, only splotches of black and red or green and white. There was a crack of Apparation behind Harry and another nervous looking house-elf now stood by the last chair on the second level closest to the door. She kept eyeing the edge of the Top Box with terror.

"Must be Crouch's house-elf," Draco said to Harry's ear. Harry shot him a look and Draco leaned back into his chair.

"Harry Potter! My boy, I haven't seen you since that dreadful business with those Muggles. How are you?" It was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Many more witches and wizards were trickling in behind him. He had come down the steps of the center aisle and leaned over the two floating dishes that Zippy had brought, extending a hand. Harry reached forward and shook the hand without standing up from his seat.

"This is Harry Potter," Fudge told to each wizard on either side of him.

Standing, Harry reached forward and shook their hands. Draco rose as well, offering his hand to each of the three wizards and announcing his name. The wizards' attention turned to Draco.

Still seated, Neville made a small noise in the back of his throat as if someone had cast a Full-Body Bind on him, except that his joints remained bent. Hermione remained seated as well; she was watching the politicians with detached interest.

The wizard on Fudge's right, wearing green and white, nodded in understanding and with an Irish accent said, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter. I'm Connor Kirkpatrick, the Minister of Magic in Ireland. You must be a fan of the Irish team."

Harry looked down at himself—at the green-velvet jacket that had the barest silver trimming and white shirt—and realized that that wasn't necessarily a bad conclusion to make. "I must be, sir," Harry said. He grinned at the Irish Minister of Magic when he gave a hearty laugh in response.

The other wizard beside Fudge wore black velvet trimmed in burgundy. After ignoring Harry's offered hand and shaking Draco's, the heavyset and stocky wizard was looking around at the supports and down at the pitch with a bored expression.

"This is  _Harry Potter_ ," Fudge said loudly at who must have been the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. The thickset man looked at Fudge blankly. He didn't seem to know a word of English nor did he seem to recognize Harry's name. " _Harry Potter_ … oh come on now, you must know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who? You know, survived the…" Fudge mimed the lightning shape on his forehead and pointed at Harry's head.

When the Bulgarian wizard spotted Harry's scar, he started gabbling loudly—in Bulgarian, Harry supposed—and excitedly jabbed a meaty forefinger at Harry's forehead as well. The manners that Mrs. Longbottom had hammered into Harry's head over the summer was the only thing that stopped him from smacking the Bulgarian Minister's hand away.

"Sorry about that," Fudge, mopping his face with a handkerchief, said to Harry sounding very embarrassed as the man beside him carried on. "This is Mr. Oblansk—Obalonsk—Mr.—well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic."

"Hello," Harry said to him politely, and the Bulgarian Minister dropped his hand and stopped whatever he was saying. He bowed lightly in greeting and uttered something guttural; showing that at least he knew Harry was being friendly.

"We're charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. Obalonski," Draco said dryly to the foreigner as if trying to cover his mirth.

The man shot Draco a dirty look.

"Where is Barty Crouch?" Fudge asked out loud. "He's much better at languages than I am. Ah! I see him now. Fantastic—" The British Minister of Magic must have noticed someone even more important walk in because his attention had turned to them when he raised a hand to greet someone behind Harry. "Lucius! How lovely it is to see you."

Surprised, Harry turned and saw a tall, long-haired platinum blond, clutching his walking cane. Lucius Malfoy appeared at ease and didn't even glare at Harry when he saw him looking. "Ah, Fudge. How are you? You've met my son, Draco, have you?"

"Yes, of course, I met your son! He's the spitting image of you, Lucius. How could I miss him?"

"Everyone ready?" A portly man in yellow and black Quidditch robes with a wasp on the front bellowed. His round face was gleaming excitedly. "Minister—ready to go?"

"In a few moments, Ludo," Fudge said as he insisted to the visiting Ministers of Magic to take their seats. Lucius took one long blank look at Harry and sat on the other side of Draco, nearest to the center aisle. Harry immediately turned forward and picked up another treat from the small table in front of him. After a cursory nod and scowl to Lucius Malfoy who returned the greeting in like, Mrs. Longbottom had taken a seat beside Hermione.

Harry twisted in his seat and saw that Mr. Nott was already seated to the left of Theodore. A rather severe-looking wizard with a thick, boxy moustache took the last empty seat next to Mr. Nott; the nervous house-elf asked the wizard in a bowler cap if he might want anything, and the wizard shook his head.

"Ready, Ludo," the British Minister of Magic cheerfully called.

The fat wizard raised his wand, and suddenly bright lights beamed upon the both of them.

Stepping to the very front of the window-less box, the British Minister of Magic directed his wand at his throat and placed it against his voice box, " _Sonorus_!" He cast.

"Welcome, welcome!" His voice boomed as if amplified by speakers. "As British Minister of Magic, it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you to the Final of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch Cup!" The Minister's voice spoke over the roar of the crowd, booming into every corner of the stands.

The screaming and clapping was nearly deafening.

"Now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Team Mascots!"

"Ear plugs in!" Draco said loudly next to Harry. Harry popped them out of the package, nudging Neville in the side and miming him to do the same.

Ear plugs firmly in place, Harry leaned forward as a hundred beautiful women glided onto the field… except they couldn't be human if they were Team Mascots. This puzzled Harry for a moment until he remembered that Draco had called them veela; their skin shone moon-bright and their white-gold hair fanned out behind them without wind. All the Dark Arts training Harry ever had was on full alert as the females began to dance, faster and faster. They were mesmerizing to watch…

Neville and Hermione got up and grabbed the railing of the box.

"Hey! What're you doing?" Harry yelled at them

His brother blinked and then backed quickly away from the edge, his face pink. Harry saw that he'd only been able to put one of the ear plugs in.

Hermione was blushing scarlet as she retook her seat with Neville. Harry took out an ear plug and heard the angry wails of the crowd, while the veela moved to sit on the sidelines of the field.

"Interesting…" Draco said beside Harry, eyeing Hermione.

"Have a pack, Hermione!" Theodore tossed another to Hermione who caught it and fumbled with the package.

"What's interesting?"

"Veela typically bewitch men," Draco said as loudly as he could over the angry cries of the crowd.

"And, now," Fudge boomed behind Harry. Harry twisted around to pick up another full glass of cold pumpkin juice. "The Irish National Team Mascots!"

"Teenagers, mainly," Mr. Nott said loudly behind them, correcting Draco. "Men typically have better control over these sorts of things… It's not as uncommon for a teenaged girl to become ensnared by veela music as one might think."

Harry glanced at red-cheeked Hermione who seemed to find the adverts on the giant blackboard much more engaging than the spectacle put on by the Irish National Team Mascots.

Two great green-and-gold comets zoomed around the stadium. They looped around twice and then the largest rainbow Harry had ever seen arced across the entirety of the stadium. The crowd oohed and aahed as though at a fireworks display. The rainbow faded and the comets slammed into each other forming a great shimmering shamrock. Golden shimmers fell from it; At the excited yells of the spectators, Harry assumed it was gold.

"Gran told me about Leprachaun gold. Pretty to look at, but disappears after a couple of hours," Neville yelled on the other side of Harry.

Nobody from the Top Box reached to pick up the shower of gold littering the front.

The great shamrock dissolved and innumerable tiny men with bearded faces and red vests floated down to the ground, taking the opposite side of the field.

"Introducing the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Fudge announced.

Suddenly a group of seven Quidditch players flew in from the very top of the stadium wearing white and green. White and green smoke flared behind the players' brooms before another giant display of fireworks went off, forming into a tap-dancing leprechaun. The crowd screamed.

"And the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!"

Seven red blurs swept through the seven green-uniformed players, nearly cobbing them as they passed. An image of Viktor Krum appeared on the blackboard across from the Top Box. Harry had admired the advanced techniques Krum had outlined in his book for Seekers. Now as Harry watched the Bulgarian Seeker, Harry was impressed by the way Krum moved on the broomstick. He was slightly envious actually.

"Let… the match… begin!" Fudge flicked his wand out and a bright ball of light flew to the middle of the pitch, signaling the start of the game.

It was intense. From the research Harry and Neville had done, the Irish had the better Chasers, but to see the numbers play out in person was amazing. Within ten minutes Ireland had scored three times while Ludo announced every play neutrally and as fast as he could. The Irish worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves. As Ireland continued to score, the Bulgarians became more brutal. Their Beaters scattered the Irish Chasers, and then a Bulgarian flier was finally able to score.

"Ear plugs!" Draco yelled. Harry popped them back in, nudging Neville again, who managed to get them in before the veela began to dance. With earplugs in, Hermione was looking at the great blackboard which was split between showing Viktor Krum and the Irish Seeker, Aidan Lynch. No one jumped from their seats this time.

Suddenly the two Seekers began to dive, plummeting at great speeds towards the ground. The Irish Seeker smashed into the grassy field while the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, spiraled back up. Harry knew what that was: the Wronski Defensive Feint. Viktor Krum was especially good at it. There was a time-out while healers tended to Lynch. Krum continued looking for the Snitch.

Once Seeker Lynch had been revived, the game began again. Within fifteen minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead 130 to 10. And then the Bulgarian Keeper fouled an Irish Chaser. Once the penalty shot had been taken, play reached a frenzied pitch. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy, particularly the Bulgarians who didn't care whether their bats were hitting Bludgers or people in Quidditch robes of green and white.

Harry winced when a Bulgarian Chaser deliberately ran into an Irish Chaser in an obvious blatching foul. Even through his ear plugs, Harry could hear the crowd's roar of anger, and the Irish won another penalty shot. The Bulgarian Keeper was not very good against the Irish Chasers.

Movement on the field below had Harry learning forward curiously; the two sets of Team Mascots had evidently begun brawling. The veela were no longer beautiful women; their faces had become bird-heads with sharp, cruel beaks, and long, scaly wings had burst from their shoulders. They were throwing handfuls of fire at the leprechauns—When the crowd roared even louder through the ear plugs, Harry looked up and saw that he had missed Ireland scoring twice again.

Both team's Seekers were diving once more. Harry had no idea why Krum's face was bleeding profusely. Maybe he'd been hit in the face with a Bludger. Harry looked up at the scoreboard. He pulled out his ear plugs to ask Draco who he thought was going to catch the Golden Snitch. Even if Krum caught the Snitch now the Bulgarians would lose by ten points—

"Another goal by Levski!" Ludo bellowed out. Harry grabbed another cup of pumpkin juice from the tray and drank it down thirstily; he'd have to stop by the loo before long. "And the Seekers are diving!"

A resounding scream of delight billowed out from Bulgaria's supporters, and Harry braced himself on the chair as he plugged his ears with his fingers; the noise had been deafeningly painful after hearing nearly nothing for nearly the whole match. And then, Krum held the glint of gold high in the air.

The crowd roared with approval.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT! IT'S A TIE!" Ludo the announcer called out. "Krum caught the Snitch, but there's no clear winner with 170-all! This is a first for the Quidditch World Cup! This is an historic event!"

"Ludo!" Cornelius Fudge's fingers were clutching his hat and traveling along the brim in a most anxious manner. "This has never happened in an official event. How am I supposed to announce the winner, when we haven't got one?!" The overlarge wizard in the black and yellow robes shrugged.

"Vell, that vas unexpected," said a baritone voice farther down the row from Harry. He turned and saw it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. Harry's eyes met Draco's mischievous grey ones; the prat had known the adult could speak English. Harry nearly laughed at Fudge's outraged expression, but the British Minister of Magic began to look fretful once more. Harry soon found out why.

The Top Box became magically illuminated from the inside-out, primarily focused on the giant golden cup held up by two panting wizards —who must have ran straight up the stairs—for everyone to see.

Fudge was sweating quite profusely as the crowd's noise grew confused the longer the Minister of Magic made no attempts to make an announcement.

"What am I supposed to say?!" Fudge said to Draco's father, who gave him a dainty shrug.

"I'm sure you'll think of something Cornelius," Lucius said with careful sympathy. Didn't Draco say how much his father wanted Fudge out of office? Harry's mind raced. This would surely ruin Fudge's popularity.

Beyond the Top Box, the crowd was growing ruly. The Irish Minister of Magic tipped his hat back, "We'll have rioting on our hands if you don't diffuse this, Minister Fudge."

"Any suggestions would be helpful," Fudge said, eyes darting between the other two Ministers, who offered nothing. The crowd's roar was beginning to overwhelm the Top Box. Something sparked in front of Harry. Hundreds of charmed notes were blocking the view of the field. The wizard in the bowler hat, Crouch, was now standing towards the front. He swiped his wand, and the notes went up in flame.

"Why don't they do a rematch?" Hermione hissed out over the crowd.

Neville gaped at her. "Can't, not since 1907. One time, a winner wasn't decided for the Quidditch World Cup for two years because of rematches!"

"And now they've no contingency plan," she said.

"Couldn't they retire the Seekers and Beaters?" Harry yelled over the crowd, which quite suddenly hushed as Fudge moved towards the speaking platform. "And give each team three shots to get a Quaffle past the Keeper?" Because the crowd was reduced to angry buzzing, Harry was easily heard by everyone in the Top Box. "Then whoever makes the most shots wins…" He finished, much more quietly. Very important-looking people in fancy outfits were staring at him and whispering.

Fudge's desperation seemed to melt away as he spun to face the match commentator. "Could we  _do_  that, Ludo?"

"Extraordinary measures, Minister!" The wizard said with an un-Amplified voice and clapped him on the back. "The night is still young!"

Looking back out to the crowd, Fudge took a deep breath. After he'd applied another voice-amplifying charm, his voice boomed, "Er. Good evening, everyone! As you can see, we've arrived at quite a sticky situation! The teams were equally matched!"

The crowd roared out their dissatisfaction.

"Yes, well. A tiebreaker is needed… unless you would prefer the teams to share the Quidditch World Cup, mm?"

They booed, echoing over the field. Both of the team's supporters were in agreement.

"No, of course not! What fun would that be?" Fudge raised his hands in a placating manner. "Luckily, I have arrived at a solution! Beaters and Seekers, your valiant efforts during the game are to be commended. However, in this, your services won't be required. Your interference will result in penalty shots for the opposite team."

There were angry shouts from the team and the supporters. "He's stolen your idea!" Neville said heatedly. Harry shrugged. It wasn't really Harry's idea, since he co-opted it from the usual way to sort out a football match that had ended in a tie, and this way Fudge would remain a thorn in Mr. Malfoy's side.

"Now, now. Hear me out. You'll like how they'll break the tie!" Fudge raised a hand to quell the angry roar. "First, the referees will provide a Quaffle for each team's Chaser. Then, the Keepers must defend their goalposts from the Chasers! Once a shot is attempted, the Chaser may not attempt one again."

This seemed to placate the crowd from shouting to puzzled chatter.

"Whichever team makes the most goals from the onslaught WINS the Quidditch World Cup!" The British Minister of Magic threw an arm towards the glittering, golden trophy which gleamed under the lights.

There was a moment of silence and then the stands shook with the sound of wild approval for this novel idea. Harry wasn't about to inform anyone about the solution's Muggle origins, but he didn't miss Mr. Malfoy's directed look of calculation at his son nor Draco's smug, smirking face. Harry frowned at the prat.

"Let the tiebreaker BEGIN!" The lights dimmed in the Top Box and faded to darkness once more.

Keepers Zograf of Bulgaria and Ryan of Ireland floated to the front of their goalposts. The Irish Keeper didn't look very composed compared to Zograf's stoicism.

"And the Keepers are at the ready!" Ludo announced. "Looks like the Chasers from each team are putting their heads together. I wonder if we'll see a new Ploy born!"

There was another loud whistle, and each Chaser, clutching a Quaffle, approached the other team's Keeper. Both team's fliers had come up with the same idea—"It looks like each team will try for a simultaneous attack! Will the Keepers be able to defend enough goals?"

Another whistle cut through the air, and there was a barrage of Quaffles. Zograf blocked one, but with a beautifully executed Starfish-and-Stick Ryan knocked two Quaffles away.

"Zograf saves one!" Ludo bellowed, "But Keeper Ryan manages to block two Quaffles! IRELAND WINS!"

Ireland's supporters gave an almighty roar of appreciation, though Bulgaria's fans were attempting to match them with loud booing.

Smiling genially, Ludo raised his hands, and silence came. "Let's give a round of applause for the gallant losers—Bulgaria!"

The sound of cheering and stamping filled the enclosed space. Harry blinked. The Seekers and Beaters were standing along the sides of the Top Box, watching—and, in Ireland's case, celebrating their opponents' loss. The Bulgarians stood there, nonplussed by the commotion. Seeker Krum looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody, stoic face. He was still holding the Snitch in one hand and a Nimbus Two Thousand and One in the other. He seemed a lot less coordinated on the ground, being slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. Grinning stupidly, Lynch, on the other hand, was predominantly supported by Beaters Quigley and Connolly.

"Come now! You played well, Bulgaria!" Minister Fudge held out a hand and one by one the Bulgarians filed by to shake hands with him—"Vulchanov and Volkov, truly showed off Bulgarian teamwork, eh?"—and the other two Ministers. When Krum's name was spoken, the whole stadium gave him an earsplitting roar drowning out Fudge's buttery congratulations. The Chasers and Keepers had finally arrived, landing on the elevated platform and stepping down to join their teams. "Yes, nice work, Dimitrov, and Ivanova, excellent throws! Levski, that last goal was tricky, wasn't it? Zograf, good show!"

Ludo made a sweeping gesture to the Irish. "Let's give another round of applause to the winners of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch Cup!"

Upon a crashing wave of jubilant sound came the Irish team. "Troy, exceptional scoring! Mullet, best flier around and beautiful too! Moran, they couldn't have done it without you, and Ryan! What a phenomenal save! Conolly and Quigley, fantastic defensive batting! Better luck next time, eh Lynch?" Fudge said as each Irish flier came forward for their handshakes from the ministers. Keeper Ryan was grinning happily as the three Chasers lifted the World Cup into the air beside their Beaters and Seeker. The crowd below thundered raucously. Harry clapped until his hands went numb.

At last, the Irish team mounted their brooms and flew from the Top Box for a flying lap of honor around the stands. Their brooms spewed more white or green clouds of smoke.

Harry turned to make a comment to Draco, but the prat was gone as well as the drink and snack trays. He blinked and looked around. Crabbe and Goyle were missing as well. "Neville, where's Draco gone?"

"He left with his dad."

Looking over his shoulder at his brother, he noticed that Mrs. Longbottom was no longer sitting down beyond the distracted Hermione, either. The elderly witch was standing beside Mr. Nott as she spoke with multiple wizards and witches in gaudy outfits. "While we have a moment, let's go find a loo." He said to his three friends and then jerked his head towards the exit.

"Good idea. I'm about to pop," Theodore said.

His brother glanced towards Mrs. Longbottom and then nodded curtly with a determined expression. Hermione didn't make a comment; her expression seemed distant. Harry looked in the direction of her gaze and saw that she was looking at the group of Bulgarian fliers who were speaking to Mr. Obalonski.

"I'll cover for you," Lupin said behind them. A startled Harry looked at the adult, who gave them a wan grin. "Go on. You singlehandedly averted an international crisis, Harry. You ought to have a little fun while you can."

Theodore stood up, while Neville began to look more anxious by the moment. "I love this plan."

"Thanks, Mr. Lupin," Harry said, face splitting into a smile.

"Call me Remus or Lupin."

"Right. I'll do that when you call me Potter."

Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"It hardly seems fair that you get to demand that when I never gave you permission to call me Harry, sir," he said.

"You certainly inherited that cheek from James, Potter," Lupin said, appearing a bit sad to use the family name.

"Thanks again, Lupin."

Standing, Hermione brushed down her dress and pushed a few flyaway hairs behind her ears. "Let's go then," Hermione said with a breathless tone, "before we're caught. We should probably leave with some dignitaries so we don't stand out."

So, the four casually stepped on the other side of the tall, bulky foreign officials and waited.

As the dignitaries went to leave, the four teenagers left with them.

They stopped by the loo first, and soon after they made it to the grassy slopes outside. The sun had long since set, and the night air made the sweaty velvet suit too chilly for Harry.

Neville hadn't appeared to breathe properly until they were off the purple velvet that covered the floor of the stadium. "I can't believe that worked…"

Enjoying that they'd gotten out from under Mrs. Longbottom's stern, overprotective mothering, Harry patted his shoulder. "Anything's possible if you put your mind to it."

"We should keep moving before she notices we've been gone too long. Even with Lupin's help, she's bound to notice," Hermione said.

"Yeah, you don't ever want to underestimate a retired Obliviator," Theodore agreed. Neville hadn't moved from his spot.

"But…" Harry's brother looked deeply conflicted.

"What's the point in sneaking away if you spend all your time fretting about being caught?" Theodore said. "If you ask me, might as well enjoy your freedom while you've got it. When do you think the next chance you'll have to be out from under your Gran's thumb besides during school?"

A rather mischievous grin appeared on Neville's face, and his eyes lit up. "You're right!" He jogged ahead of them towards the forest, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"I can't believe  _that_  convinced him," Hermione stated with a wry tone.

"It helps that he's gotten more confident," Theodore said. His eyes lingered over Harry. "I wonder who we should thank for that…"

With an annoyed tsk, Harry brushed by his Slytherin friend as he settled into a quick lope, easily passing Neville. "Race ya!" He tossed at his brother.

"You're on!"

Laughing, Harry ran down the center of the path which was mostly empty since people were generally hugging the path nearest to the trees where there was more light by the lit lanterns. Above them, Harry could see a sea of stars through the branches of the trees.

"Stop daydreaming, Harry, or you'll lose  _again_!" Neville pounded past him.

At a moderate pace, Harry gave his brother another five seconds and then he pushed off the road much harder. With each foot's landfall he darted forward. When Harry ran fast enough, sometimes he felt like he was flying. That feeling filled him now as he dodged the few magical folk in his way. Minutes crawled by as his heart pounded and his breathing filled his ears. His goal wasn't that far ahead of him, and his lungs and muscles began to burn in a sensation he was coming to enjoy.

At the exact moment, they had both arrived at the edge of forest where they first entered. "Let's call it a draw," Harry told Neville's bewildered face, who glanced at the dust that had been kicked up in Harry's wake.

"You've been letting me win, haven't you?" Through Neville's breathy tone, Harry could hear disappointment.

"Yes, but—"

"So you felt sorry for me and let a loser like me win, is that it?" Neville's tone was an odd mixture of hurt pride and anguish.

"You're not a loser. Not even close!" Harry grabbed him by the arms to stop him from fleeing. "At the beginning of summer you wouldn't have been able to run as fast or as far or as  _long_  as you've just done." When Neville's face only twisted in confusion, Harry wished he could express himself as eloquently as Draco, as clearly as Theodore, or even as bluntly as Hermione. "Your persistence in trying  _even when you fail_  is your greatest strength. You've only had three months and you've already achieved so much! Neville, look down the path! That was at least a twenty-minute walk and we ran it in  _half_  that!"

When Harry stepped back, Neville looked down at himself and at the path they'd raced down. "You're right.  _Blimey_ , Harry you're right!" He let out a whoop of excitement. "I'm going to try out for the Quidditch Team this year!"

Harry shook his head. "Not this year, Neville. You have a whole year of training to do."

"You don't think I'm good enough?"

Theodore had finally arrived, not a hair out of place, while Hermione seemed quite out of breath, red-faced and clutching her side. "What I think Harry—" she gasped to take in great pants of air.

Neville stared at her. "You alright?"

"Oh, I've a stitch in my side—" She panted out, "It's nothing."

"She's trying to say that there's no Quidditch at Hogwarts this year," Theodore said, not at all out of breath.

" _What?_  No Quidditch?!" Scuffing his foot, Neville hung his head, his expression crestfallen. "How?  _Why_?"

"You haven't told him about that yet, Harry? I'm surprised," Draco drawled from a place on the roots of a large oak tree. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting on their rumps on either side of Draco's shiny black shoes, grinning at the four who just arrived.

Harry shot him an annoyed look and then said to Neville, "I didn't want to needlessly lower your spirits in case I was wrong about the Triwizard Tournament." Harry stepped closer to the trio by the oak tree, wondering what they were waiting for when a sudden burst of light in the black sky caused him to turn. So, they had wanted to watch a spectacular view of fireworks…

"They're bringing  _that_  back? The Triwizard Tournament?" In the light of the fireworks, Neville's eyes were huge.

"Why do you look so concerned?" Harry asked, eyes turning again to the glittering colors in the sky.

"Well," Hermione said with a huff, "It's because people  _die_  in that tournament."

"Yeah, 'Mione's right. Every time it's been brought back, someone's died!" Neville agreed. "Why would they bring  _that_  back?"

"It raises international cooperation between foreign-born wizards and witches and, besides, don't you know the Ministry has already placed rules in effect to protect us underage witches and wizards?" Draco said with his usual air of superiority.

"Your father had a hand in this, did he?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Oh, I assure you that if my father  _had_  this whole Triwizard Tournament enterprise would've been scrapped immediately. The wizard in charge of International Magical Cooperation Department at the Ministry of Magic would never allow it. My father simply implied to the Minister that he believed it was a  _very_   _good_ idea in case Fudge was having second thoughts. The Minister can veto the whole process, you see. That's why there hasn't been a Triwizard Tournament called for over fifty years."

Harry was having a bad feeling about the whole affair. "Draco, have you heard of a witch who's gone missing?"

Draco blinked thoughtfully. "Well, yes. But she usually gets lost. It's said that she has an extremely bad sense with directions. I don't know why they don't just pair her with someone who'll keep her more productive."

"She went missing just recently? A month or so ago?"

"Yes…" Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. "How do you know about Bertha Jorkins?"

_"Bertha… I am afraid that I cannot allow you to leave..."_  The memory of the high-pitched cold voice tore through Harry's mind. He needed to warn Professor Dumbledore.

A great explosion sounded across the valley of tents, and a ball of fire, not fireworks, erupted upward. The screams of delight and excitement instantly soured to wails of terror and fright.

Harry's breath caught in his chest as he watched chaos and destruction erupt below them. Swarms of people ran away from the tents to the safety of the forest, and Harry could see a group of five black-robed people setting tents alight left and right from their wands.

"Death Eaters," Neville said tremulously next to him. "But how?! Security's tight! How did they get in?!"

Hermione answered with a deathly soft tone, "They probably got in like anybody else. Nobody's stupid enough to Portkey in with Death Eater robes on."

Harry glanced at Draco, who was leaning with self-assurance against the tree trunk, and then at Theodore, who looked grimly at the destruction below. They were both curiously silent. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle said a word either, though Harry could see Crabbe's eyes were filled with dark malice and excitement at the devastation in front of him. Goyle's expression was carefully blank and he did not appear to be happy about the situation.

So, Draco and his two pawns had been told to stay here and watch the devastation unfold, had they? Harry reasoned that their fathers must be responsible, the fourth could be Theodore's Da and the fifth was probably Severus Snape. Harry looked back at the horror taking place to the people down below. At least the ones who were running past didn't look as if they'd been terribly injured.

"This is horrible. We should do something!"

"We need to stay safe," Harry told his brother. "The Ministry is responsible for the safety of the campsite, not us. We don't even have our O.W.L.s yet."

Neville was breathing heavily. His wand was out and it shook in a tight fist. "I can't stand it!" He sobbed out. "It's too horrible!"

"You must, Neville!" Hermione said with a firm voice.

Harry grabbed Neville's shoulder before he stupidly ran onto the field that was still emptying of panicked magical folk. "I want to, too, but how do you think Gran would feel if we were hurt?"

He sniffled, rubbing angrily at his tears. "I hate them. I hate Death Eaters. My mum and dad. They'd still be with me…" Neville's voice cracked and he let out another sob.

"Mine too," Harry said darkly, looking at his four roommates who gazed warily back. Harry thought that Neville's parents were some of the sweetest people he had ever met. "At least yours are alive."

"B-but what's the point if they d-don't even know who I-I… who I am!" Neville wept into both of his hands, his wand growing wet from tears.

"The point is that you can visit them. I don't even know where my parents were buried."

As more explosions sounded and multiple CRACKs of Apparation followed somewhere beyond the forest, Neville sobbed. Harry knew he must be releasing years of pent-up anger and sadness over the loss of his parents. Harry comforted him as well as he could, even though he was terribly awkward about it.

Absolutely no other witches and wizards chose to remain at the edge of the forest, besides the seven teenagers.

"Hermione! What're you doing over here?" Ron's voice pierced the night air.

"We stopped to watch the fireworks, and then—"

He came forward, giving her a look-over. "No one's hurt, are they?"

She blinked at Ron, obviously noticing that the Gryffindor hadn't looked at anyone else when he said it.

"No, only bad memories," Harry said simply, keeping his hand on Neville's shoulder as he continued to cry. "He'll be better soon."

"Weasel-bee, I didn't expect to see  _you_  here."

"Malfoy," Ron's voice hissed across Harry's head. "Which Chiz-pit did you bloody crawl out of?"

Draco sneered, "Did you come a month early or did your father sell your little hovel to get better tickets?"

"I  _bet_  your father's down there with the rest of them! Everyone knows he's a supporter of You-Know-Who!" Ron retorted angrily.

"Well… if he  _was_ , I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I?"

"ENOUGH!" Hermione roared, standing between them with her wand trained in warning on one and then the other. "This isn't the time or the place for your petty quibbling! I swear you both are  _worse_  than an old married couple!"

Theodore snorted loudly in surprise. Crabbe and Goyle began guffawing.

"Shut it!" Draco commanded. Harry was unsurprised that they promptly went quiet. "Well, Granger, that's  _rich_  considering how you and Weasley bicker constantly. However, seeing as how neither a Muggle-born nor a blood traitor would know the proper etiquette to maintain a hospitable environment between public enemies… I wonder if you'll manage to stay  _safe_ with Death Eaters lurking about. Crabbe! Goyle!" In a few moments, all three of them had disappeared into the darkness.

"Bloody Slytherins," Ron muttered and then, after Theodore cleared his throat, growled, "…Bloody Malfoy and his goons."

"Did Malfoy just say that it's  _our_  fault he's a rude, obnoxious twit?" Hermione's face had twisted with disgust. "That smug little bastard! I can't stand him!"

"You did punch him on the nose that one time," Harry reminded her and in the dim light of a half-moon she scowled. "And Ron hasn't learned to control his temper when Draco baits him either, has he?" Harry finally dropped his hand from Neville who was rubbing his face raw.

"This is  _not_  my fault!" Ron yelled. "That bullying wanker is always taking shots at my parents and my brothers and Ginny!"

"You misunderstand me," Harry said. "I'm not saying that Draco's intentions excuse his behavior, nor do I condone his behavior. He's a prat and proud of it."

"But you're blaming me! What you meant to say is that 'If you didn't have a ginger's temper, Malfoy wouldn't be such an arse!'" Ron shouted.

"I wasn't suggesting…" Harry sighed to stop himself from explaining. "I'm sorry, alright?"

Ron's mouth gaped open as he pointed at Harry. " _You're sorry_? Malfoy's the one I'm mad at!"

"I never intended to slight you or your family. In fact, I think your mum's wonderful. I still have the jumper she made me last Christmas. I was thinking of wearing it just to annoy Draco."

In the faint light, Ron's ears turned bright red as he continued to gape at Harry.

"I think he's in shock, mate," Theodore said to Harry.

"She keeps your thank-you card on the mantle next to photos of her children," Hermione said.

"Oh," Harry said, touched. He'd only met the big-hearted Mrs. Weasley twice before, but that was years ago for only a brief moment at the train station and a short while in Diagon Alley.

"I-I told her you were just being a bloody Slytherin… but you… you actually think so? You think my mum's wonderful?" Ron looked as uncertain as he sounded.

"Just because I'm a Slytherin doesn't make me a bad person. I'm still who you met on the train… being Sorted into Slytherin never changed who I was," Harry said.

Ron's mouth had opened into that stupid expression he'd had when he found out Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Hermione nudged Ron. "Well,  _say_  something."

"Merlin…" Ron paused, looking at Harry with fresh eyes. "I've been a complete knobhead towards you…"

"You're an arse to everyone, not just Harry," Theodore teased in a friendly manner.

"Hey!" Ron protested as they laughed.

_"Mosmorde!"_ A harsh voice cried behind them, and a great greenish light flung up into the dark sky.

"Oh, shite," Theodore said, looking up at the skull-and-snake aurora that had appeared in the sky blotting out the stars. "We need to scatter before the law-keepers—!"

Several clouds appeared around them, coalescing into wizards and witches with wands pointed at them, and Harry shouted, "DUCK!" wrapping arms around Neville and Hermione to make sure they did so.

Theodore and Ron dove to the ground as multiple red Stunning Spells were lobbed in their direction. Harry felt his hair ripple from the passing spells, which crossed each other and slammed into tree trunks, sparking—

"WAIT! STOP!  _That's my son_!" A wizard shouted furiously as he jogged towards them.

Harry released his hold on Hermione and Neville and sat up. With the bright light of the aurora in the sky, Harry recognized the terrified man striding towards them as Arthur Weasley, Ron's father.

"Ron, Hermione! Are you okay?" The wizard helped them up and gave them a quick inspection. When he received an affirmative, he turned to Harry, Neville, and Theodore who were brushing themselves off, "Kids, you okay?"

"Dad, that's Harry Potter with Neville Longbottom and Theodore Nott," Ron said.

" _Harry Potter_?" Mr. Weasley said incredulously. "My word!"

"Which of you did it!" The same wizard in a bowler hat from the stands pointed a shaking wand into their faces, his face taut with rage, "Which one of you has conjured it?!"

"Crouch, you can't possibly—" Mr. Weasley began.

"We didn't do anything!" Ron said loudly, looking indignant. "What did you attack us for?"

"Do not lie!" The wizard demanded. "You've been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"What  _crime_?" Harry asked, hating that he could not hold his wand in the wizard's face as he seemed so keen to do to the five of them.

"Barty!" Mr. Weasley reproved, "They're just  _kids_!"

"It's the Dark Mark, Harry," Hermione said in a hushed tone, nodding to the sky. "It's  _his_  Mark."

"You mean…?" Harry said, staring up at the apparition glowing ghostly in the sky and thought of Voldemort. "Do you think the person, who stood back over there," Harry was careful not to think of who that might have been as he waved in the general direction of where he'd heard the incantation, "Conjured it so the Death Eaters could escape?"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Crouch said, turning his popping eyes to Harry's face; disbelief was etched all over his face. "You seem well-informed about the range limits of the spell, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked around at the ring of witches and wizards around them. Besides Mr. Crouch, none of the others appeared to think it remotely likely that the Hogwarts students had conjured the snake-and-skull illusion. On the contrary, many of them were squinting through the dark trees in the direction that Harry had gestured.

"He's right you know," a witch in a woolen dressing gown announced. "One of them must have Conjured it to distract us. They'll have escaped the Ward limits and Disapparated by now."

"Our Stunners went right through those trees… there's a good chance we got someone," a short man with a golfer's hat said lightly.

"All of you, this way!" Mr. Crouch commanded, heading into the darkness.

Harry looked back up at the aurora fascinated. It looked rather pretty for it to represent something so evil.

"You haven't read that book I sent you last Christmas, have you?" Hermione said quite severely to Harry. "Otherwise you would have known about  _that."_  She enunciated the last word like it was something very foul, gesturing to the sky.

"Sorry, I've been doing homework, bonding with Neville, and suffering through the tutors that Mrs. Longbottom forced upon us," Harry said.

"Which you will thank me for at a later date, dear!" came a sharp voice. Standing next to Mr. Nott, Augusta Longbottom was seething with anger. Her face held high spots of color. "I've been looking everywhere… for the both of you!"

"Augusta, a pleasure to see you though I wish it were in better circumstances," Mr. Weasley said politely. Mr. Nott immediately took Theodore aside and began to speak to him quietly.

Harry blinked. If Mr. Nott had been with Mrs. Longbottom this whole time, then he wasn't a Death Eater, was he?

Mrs. Longbottom nodded to acknowledge Mr. Weasley's words but her attention was fully on Harry and Neville.

"H-hi, Gran," Neville stammered. "We're alright. We never made it to the tents before they were attacked."

Harry looked down at the field now filled with charred bones of tent supports and miscellaneous other things still smoking. It was a very sad sight, he thought.

"And a very good thing!" She growled, stepping closer to Neville to inspect every part of him. Neville allowed her. "It would have been your luck that you tripped and was kicked in the head by that stampede of riffraff!" The old witch suddenly threw her arms around her grandson and pulled him into a tight hug. "I feared for the worst. Don't you ever scare me like that again."

"Sorry, Gran," Neville mumbled against her shoulder. Harry smiled at the sight of them.

"No!" A high-pitched voice shrieked behind them. Harry whipped around to see that a house-elf had been caught,  _Crouch's_  house-elf. "No, master! Not clothes! Winky didn't do it! Not clothes, master! Please!"

Harry knew this was the only way to set a house-elf free from their magical contract: present them with proper garments. He didn't know why it was so alarming to the little house-elf, unless Mr. Crouch provided a good home for her.

"What's going on over there?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Will they hurt her?"

"Probably not," Theodore said. "There's laws against that sort of thing in Britain."

"We better go, Ron," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly will have our ears if we don't make our appearance quickly..."

Ron didn't seem to want to move. His eyes were affixed upon the sobbing house-elf.

"Ron," Mr. Weasley said more urgently.

"See you later, Hermione, Neville, Harry, and Nott," he said. The Gryffindor's eyes were reluctant to leave the scene of the sobbing house-elf surrounded by wizards and witches. He turned and followed his father deeper into the woods.


	3. Onwards to Hogwarts

When they arrived back to the Longbottom Manor via Side-Along Apparation, Harry was still wrought with unease from the appearance of Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. True to tactics of most Dark Lords, Voldemort's machinations were working to instill fear of a coming reign…

"Bailey," Mrs. Longbottom said, "you and your guests are welcome to stay for the night."

"We will most happily take your offer, milady," Theodore's da replied.

She raised her voice, "Dobby?"

There was a pop and the eager house-elf appeared. "Dobby has finished a splendid supper! What else can Dobby do for the Mistress?"

"Prepare comfortable rooms for our guests." The Matriarch looked over Harry's friends and Lupin.

Grinning ear-to-ear, Dobby bowed. "Give Dobby ten minutes!" With a snap, he disappeared again.

"Let us dine in the parlor before our meal goes cold."

The group entered the dining parlor, taking places in front of delicately arranged settings. A blink later and the empty dishes filled with the first course. The adults conversed about banal topics, avoiding any mention of the sudden end to the Irish fans' celebrations.

Hermione and Theodore dominated the conversation among the soon-to-be fourth-years with talk of house-elf rights. Theodore represented the thought that house-elves were generally happy to serve Wizarding families, while Hermione was of the opinion that all house-elves should be made free and paid equitable salary. When Dobby popped in to tell Mrs. Longbottom that the rooms were ready, Hermione called him over.

"What can Dobby do for Harry Potter's friend, Hermione Granger?"

"Yes, well, I have a few questions for you about your treatment here at this manor, if I might ask them?"

"Dobby is happy to answer!"

"Harry freed you from the Malfoys." Her eyes flicked towards Harry before resettling on the house-elf. "Are you still free?"

"Oh yes, Dobby is his own master! Dobby gladly wears  _clothes_!"

"Do you get paid in clothes?"

"Oh, no, no. Harry Potter offers a great number of  _clothes_  and Dobby  _chooses_  what to wear!"

Hermione frowned at the faded color and the hem that was unraveling from the Christmas jumper. "Are they all in such poor shape?"

Harry said sharply, "I offered him everything from my closet. Don't blame me when that's what he chose."

"No need to get defensive about it," she said, and then turned back to Dobby. "Surely you would like to wear something  _nicer_."

"Dobby likes the  _warm_ feelings from it. Harry Potter  _treasures_ this, and so Dobby only wears it on special occasions and Dobby is careful to preserve its original appearance."

Harry's face went hot when his three friends gave him a curious look. "My favorite grammar school teacher knitted it for me."

" _Oh_ ," Hermione said as if this explained everything. "She's the only one who gave you the benefit of the doubt?"

Swallowing, Harry nodded. Theodore and Neville exchanged a look. Hermione must have read the unauthorized biography by Rita Skeeter.

"Not long after Mrs. Peterson gave me the jumper, the Dursleys relocated. I was afraid that if I wore it, it would be taken from me. I made the mistake of running it through the wash once. The colors faded and, well, it really ought to have been hand-washed," Harry said quietly.

Dobby proudly puffed his chest out, rocking on his heels. "And now Harry Potter's best jumper belongs to Dobby!"

"I… I see," Hermione said. "So, Harry pays you for your service?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Dobby said as he shook his large head vigorously and his ears flopped noisily. He completely missed the glare Hermione sent Harry. "Dobby refuses any payment from Harry Potter. Harry Potter is Dobby's  _friend_. Harry Potter helped Dobby because he could not bear to see Dobby mistreated. Dobby said, 'How can Dobby ever repay, Harry Potter?', and Harry Potter asked what  _Dobby_  wanted to do. No one has  _ever asked_ Dobby such a question before. But Dobby had always wanted to serve a proper wizard, one who would not threaten to hurt Dobby five times a day or kick Dobby down the stairs. So, Dobby  _chose_ to serve Harry Potter for the rest of his days, Hermione Granger." Dobby's ears rose with an inquisitive air. "Does this answer the question?"

Hermione's eyes had watered during Dobby's retelling. "Yes, it does. Thank you, Dobby."

"Dobby is happy to be of service!" With a snap, the green-eyed house-elf disappeared.

Her gaze lingered over Harry before she took a bite of the small chocolate cake that had appeared on her plate. Theodore could not stop smirking whenever Harry glanced at him.

"The end to that match was a surprise with the teams tying, wasn't it? It's too bad Bulgaria's Keeper had trouble defending the hoops," Neville said in the sudden silence.

Theodore nodded, "Zograf's usually more on top of his game. He could've been bribed or Confunded."

"Or simply lost his nerve. Performing at an event where a hundred thousand fans are watching would do that to most people," Hermione said. "Or maybe he heard something distressing before the game started."

Shrugging, Theodore ate the rest of his slice of cake.

"Could have, 'Mione."

"Otherwise," Harry agreed, "The results don't make sense. Zograf let too many goals through than was normal for him."

The conversation continued in that vein, until Mrs. Longbottom announced that supper had been delicious as usual and stood up. Neville and Harry immediately set their napkins onto the table and rose with her, which left their guests rushing to set aside their cutlery and stand as well.

"No hurry, dears. Eat if you're still hungry," Mrs. Longbottom instructed. Harry blinked in surprise. Mr. Nott, however, appeared finished with his meal, while Lupin only stopped eating out of courtesy.

"Thank you, Gran," Neville said.

"I will be retiring to the sitting room, dear. Don't stay up too late." Her steel green eyes passed between Neville and Harry, and they nodded. One much more vigorous than the other.

The two eldest left the room, and they continued their meal.

Hermione made the comment on how strict Gran was and Harry couldn't help the chuckle. Strict was an understatement.

"More like overbearing, you mean," Theodore chimed in after a brief spate of laughter.

As soon as they finished, they wished Lupin a good night and went upstairs, tired but well-fed.

"Well," Hermione said as soon as the four teenagers had made it to the second floor, "I don't think Crouch's house-elf could conjure the Dark Mark without a wand—they didn't find one in the vicinity, did they?—nor did she sound like the person who cast it. I'll have to write Ron for details." She frowned. "I really should have noticed that earlier. Now the poor thing's likely thrown out of her home... maybe it'll turn out alright. She was probably nothing more than a slave to Crouch like every other house-elf I've read about."

After listening to her position over supper, everyone knew better than to argue with her on the topic of house-elf enslavement. Even bringing up that house-elves enjoyed menial labor had been met with derision.

"It would be wonderful if free colonies of house-elves still existed. Did you know the Parkinsons  _breed_ house-elves?" Hermione sounded scandalized. "Imagine,  _sentient beings_  being treated like animals! It's awfully barbaric and ought to stop, don't you think?"

As a silent Neville opened the door to the bedroom he shared with Harry and walked in without answering, Theodore looked thoughtfully down the hallway which had dozens of closed doors and then proceeded to open them one by one, closing the ones that didn't pass his inspection.

"Hmph," Hermione said, her hands on her hips. She swiveled her head to the remaining wizard. "You agree with them, Harry?"

"Are you kidding? They haven't even stated what they thought to avoid an argument with you altogether."

Hermione scowled. "Well then, do you agree with me?"

"I think house-elves should be given a choice. If they want to work for free, you can't force them to take the money. I know I've tried more times than I can count with Dobby. And, the whole idea of breeding them seems cruel since they  _are_  Beings. They should be allowed to fall in love and pair up however they like."

Appearing satisfied, the young witch went to the adjacent room that Theodore had left open. "I thought that was a pleasant meal all things considered. Good night and pleasant dreams." Then she shut the door, locking it.

Harry had almost expected her to argue that house-elves were all brainwashed and needed to be 'educated' from a young age to the joys of consumerism like she had over their meal. A board creaked behind him.

"We'll probably leave by Floo tomorrow morning after breakfast," Theodore said over Harry's shoulder. He must have followed the hall until it looped back to the stairwell next to Harry's room. "Night."

"Night," Harry said. Theodore disappeared into the room adjacent to Neville's study across the hall.

Harry entered his bedroom. Neville was already curled under the covers of his bed, fast asleep. The short Slytherin changed into nightrobes, slipped into his bed, put out the lamp's flame, and fell asleep. He didn't stay asleep long. His eyes opened to blackness, his breath catching from another nightmare. Throwing off the covers, he grabbed the lamp and turned it on. It cast the darkness back with its dim light, and Harry was able to breath more easily.

He shuffled to Neville's study and ignored the mirror's greeting as he passed it to his desk. He pulled a shiny black book from the bookshelf next to his desk and sat to read it.

The clock gave quiet chimes as each hour passed. Now, it was three in the morning, and Harry was thinking. He didn't want to disturb his brother with his newest knowledge. For all intents and purposes, he should go to sleep, but after reading the book Hermione had given him cover to cover worrisome fears had a way of keeping him wide-awake with a brain buzzing with restless activity.

"Harry?" Theodore's soft voice interrupted the tumble of thoughts.

He looked up at his friend. The glow of the oil lamp in Theodore's hand cast most of his face in shadows.

"What's on your mind?" Turning off the oil lamp, Theodore walked into the dimly lit study and noticed the book sitting in front of Harry.

With a sigh, Harry wasn't sure which of the many thoughts rattling around his head he should share.

"Is it about… what happened at the campsite? I couldn't sleep either." Theodore didn't take a chair, looking unsure as if he were welcome or not.

Harry glanced down at the cover of  _The_   _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , which he had finished only half an hour ago. "Three days ago…" He hesitated and then lightly brushed the black fringe covering his scar. "I woke up with my scar burning, and it wasn't just a little bit; it felt like someone was using a hammer and a chisel to split my skull open… And tonight… No, last night…"

"It was the first time in nearly thirteen years that the Dark Lord's Mark appeared in the sky," Theodore finished for him. Looking concerned, he took a seat in a creaky chair across from Harry. "Did any…" His friend faltered, '"Did any visions occur with the pain?"

"Visions…" Harry said slowly, wondering if he should tell his friend or not, but was he truly trustworthy?

"That's quite the suspicious look. What are you thinking about?"

Harry decided it was better to ask straight out. "Was that your father who conjured the Dark Mark?"

"No. I didn't recognize the voice." Theodore grimaced a little as he said it. "Which is a shame. I'd have liked to have collected a partial bounty for turning a Death Eater in."

"Then, yes."

"Yes, you had visions?"

"Dreams, more like," Harry said thoughtfully, staring at the cover illustration of a waning moon, which was the blade of the Grim Reaper's leaning scythe. "Dreams of a servant with Volde—"

Leaning forward with a menacing air, Theodore hissed. "If the Dark Lord has risen, you  _must not_  speak his name!"

Harry frowned, too tired to figure out why he felt that wasn't the first time he'd been warned about it.

"It's Taboo Magic, Harry. Didn't that book talk about it?"

"Oh… yes, I suppose it did."

"If the Dark Lord regains his power, he'll get his minions to cast Taboo Magic everywhere. He'll know whenever someone says his name, their location, how many people are around them, a pile of information which he then uses to send a Death Squad to make sure you don't take his name in vain again. Sometimes the Dark Lord slaughters everyone. Sometimes he destroys all of their possessions to allow the barely subsisting survivors to spread the fear of his name around."

" _Merlin_.  _He_  really does think he's a god, doesn't he?" Harry murmured at the book. "A god of death and vengeance."

"God, devil, it doesn't much matter," Theodore said with a worn voice. "He's powerful and Dark and if you cross him he will kill you where you stand, but  _only_ _if_ he's feeling merciful."

Harry's frown became grimmer as he imagined the other things Voldemort had been known to do from the descriptions in the book.

"Da's told me plenty about him. Said that the Dark Lord had always expected the children of his followers to take the Dark Mark," Theodore said, tapping his wand-arm—his left arm—"if they're worthy of it when they become of age."

"What a load of tosh," Harry said angrily, "Just because you're born from someone who's a Death Eater doesn't make you a surefire Death Eater."

Theodore smiled at him with that look of pity Harry hated. "One does not tell the Dark Lord 'no' when he makes a request. The consequences… are brutal."

"I would never say 'yes' to him, not  _ever_ ," Harry said with conviction.

Theodore didn't say anything to that. Leaning back, he rubbed a hand through his cropped sandy hair. "At any rate, it's Uncle Rantankerous I have to watch out for. It's another reason why Da and I moved around so much… because of him. He's mad, thinks I'm his son even though my cousin died in childbirth years ago… According to my Da, Uncle Ranty's always been eager to offer me to the Dark Lord."

He might've been among the five Death Eaters then. "I didn't know…"

His friend shrugged lightly. "So these dreams…? When did they start?"

"A couple weeks after school term ended."

"What're they about?"

"I'm a snake called Nagini. I slither around overhearing conversations." When Theodore nodded, Harry continued, "The first dream was about Bertha Jorkins, though I'd forgotten her name. She gave Vol—Lord Vole information about the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament before he used Imperio on her. My second dream was between Tom and another wizard he called Weaver. There's a faithful servant at Hogwarts, a murder plot, and some plan that involves me this year. Then I—well,  _Nagini_  warned Lord Vole about a Muggle gardener—Bryce—listening in on them."

"And then?"

"And then Bryce was murdered, and I woke up with my scar aching but without any sort of blood or puffiness."

Theodore winced. "The Killing Curse?"

With a nod, Harry leaned against his hand, propped up by an elbow. "So what do you think? Why am I getting these… visions?"

"Dunno. You could have some innate Divination potential… which I hesitate to dismiss since you always seem to be extraordinarily lucky in extremely unlucky situations and very unlucky in the simplest circumstance…" Theodore's eyes shifted uneasily.

Harry dismissed that he might have any sort of Divination ability. "What else could it mean?"

"…You might have a connection to the Dark Lord through the scar."

"Through the scar," Harry repeated dumbly. "To the most powerfully evil wizard of our time."

"Well, it's acting a bit like a Dark Lord Sensor isn't it? Your scar hurts when he's possessed someone around you or bleeds in his presence or stings when you're having dreams with him in it—"

"I've had other dreams of him without my scar hurting," Harry corrected.

"Then, the burning scar could signal the difference between a nightmare and something real happening."

That could easily explain why there were so few 'visions' about being a snake. Harry's stomach was clenching in a painful manner.

"In these instances," Theodore leaned over the table after glancing around warily. "Have you thought it may be that your scar reacts badly when the Dark Lord's casting the Unforgivables?"

"Why do you say that?" Harry pressed fingers over his inert scar.

"You wake up because it's hurting so badly, you see,  _after_  the Dark Lord murders someone, right? You also woke up after the Imperius Curse was used on Jorkins…?"

It was a little disturbing how easily Theodore caught on and quite terrifying how much sense he was making. "But wouldn't I  _feel_  it if he cast spells while I was awake?"

"Maybe your scar doesn't react to basic, every day spells. And maybe he only uses Unforgivables on occasion in the darkest hours of the morning. He's too smart do it in broad daylight if he's severely weakened and in hiding."

Harry felt resistance to the idea. He didn't want to have this connection with Voldemort. A shiver ran down his spine.

"It's too bad about Jorkins; no one's realized yet that she's not lost," Theodore continued, "They probably won't until her usefulness to the Dark Lord ends."

Taking a deep breath, Harry said, "I think most people would've told me not to worry about the dreams."

Theodore's steel blue eyes met Harry's. "It would have been a disservice to you. I want you to survive the coming war."

"So you'll side with me?" Harry asked, filling with hope.

"I'll certainly try, but I think my father may have other plans for me."

Harry's mood deflated. "The Dark Mark then?"

Theodore's lips flattened, and his eyes became shuttered. "Da's not a Death Eater…"

"Sorry."

"No worries." Theodore's gaze became distant as he leaned back, looking through Harry's oil lamp. "During the first war, Da's told me stories about how he wiggled out from that Dark Lord's clutches. The Dark Lord had wanted him pressed into his army's ranks like every other able-bodied Pureblood wizard, so it was no small task either to evade him. Almost every thrill-seeking Snatcher chased Da around the world to try to collect the reward on his head. Fortunately, this time around if Da's caught, that'd be another benefit to getting hairy once a month. The Dark Lord doesn't Mark my sort."

The book had said that Voldemort used Lycanthropes to murder or infect others, but never mentioned his prejudice against them… "I should probably jot off another note to Professor Dumbledore about your theory and tell him about Jorkins," Harry said, pulling out a green-hued sheet of parchment, a dark green quill and silver ink. Then, he wrote out a sentence about his being connected to the Dark Lord when Theodore grabbed his wrist and lifted his hand.

Harry gave him a strange look.

"Where did you get that parchment and ink?"

"It was Draco's birthday gift…" Harry said slowly, not sure what the fuss was about.

Releasing him, Theodore snatched the parchment and burned it using the flame from the lamp. The parchment sparked purple and silver. There was a loud exhale from his friend. "You need to burn the rest of the parchment in the main hearth when you've a chance to."

"Why?"

The other teen ran a hand through his hair. "Have you written anything else with this parchment?"

"No. Well, I wrote Professor Dumbledore about the dreams three days ago…"

"I don't know how to say this nicely."

Harry knew that he'd done something terribly stupid and not known by the look on Theodore's face. "What is it?"

"That was Repeating Parchment." Theodore's fingers were tightly clamped on the edge of the table. "You've just told Lucius Malfoy that you think you might have a direct link to the Dark Lord. By all means, tell Professor Dumbledore about the dreams, but in the future avoid using anything Draco gives you when dealing with something this sensitive, alright?"

Harry nodded, looking at the stack of green parchment. Lucius Malfoy, a Death Eater who—according to the book he'd just read—had escaped time in Azkaban by claiming that he was under the Imperius Curse, knew that Harry had a mysterious connection to Lord Voldemort. Covering his face with his hands, Harry groaned. "I'm an idiot."

"I have a book on magic dealing with political espionage. I'll send it to you. But to avoid this sort of thing in the future, don't use anything from the Malfoys. Promise?"

Harry stood up and pulled a regular piece of parchment from Neville's desk.

"Did you hear me, Harry?"

"Yes. I got it." He sat back down and began writing a proper letter to the headmaster. The more he learned the less foolish Harry would be. At least, he hoped that was how it worked.

* * *

A week and a half later, there was definitely an end-of-summer gloom in the air when Harry woke up. Heavy rain was splattering against the window next to his bed as he got dressed in jeans and a jumper. The rain was a good reason to wear his Spellfast cloak. He'd change into his robes once he was on Hogwarts Express.

Last week, Dobby had taken the list of school supplies that the wizards had needed and disappeared to Diagon Alley to make purchases for them. He arrived with everything, plus a few extra things he believed Harry had wanted. Harry had accepted the items, thanking a jubilant Dobby. Half of them were gifts Harry had wanted to buy for his friends whose birthdays hadn't yet come that year and the rest were future Christmas gifts. It had made Harry wonder at Elf Magic. Last year, Dobby had cleaned Snape's filthy house simply because it had bothered Harry so much. Now, Dobby had bought more things than he had been instructed to spend money on…

As Harry packed his trunk, Neville stirred on his bed. The bedroom door creaked open and Dobby peeked inside, very careful not to step into the room.

"Is Dobby to stay at Longbottom Manor, Harry Potter?" He said squeakily, his bat-like ears drooping.

"Yes," Harry said. "I'll return for Christmas and Easter break. We'll see each other then, Dobby. If not, you can come visit me." He smiled at the free house-elf, who grinned uncertainly back. "I'll write to you, if you want."

Dobby's eyes immediately began to water and he sopped up the tears with the collar of an over-sized polo shirt that Harry had outgrown. "Harry Potter is so kind. Dobby has the best, most wonderful, most caring wizard to serve."

"You have to promise to write me back," Harry told him. "If Mrs. Longbottom is bullying you, you don't need to put up with it."

"Mistress is no bully to Dobby. Mistress is most grateful of Dobby's hard work and constantly praises Dobby. In fact, Mistress has fired the Cook months ago, preferring Dobby's meals." Dobby's mouth split across his large head, beaming with pride.

"Or she's doing it to save money," Harry said and glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice, "Lodging Neville's parents at St. Mungo's indefinitely can't be cheap."

Dobby blinked his tennis ball-sized eyes at Harry. "Mistress gives Dobby a Sickle every day Dobby works at Longbottom Manor."

"She… pays you?" Harry stared at the house-elf, feeling a bit hurt. He'd offered his own money so many times and been turned down.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby," the house-elf reminded him solemnly. "Dobby cannot take Harry Potter's money, especially when Dobby desires to make a Christmas gift for Harry Potter later."

"You didn't… spend your money on me when you went to Diagon Alley, did you, Dobby?"

Another grin split the house-elf's face. "Dobby is not telling, sir. No, Dobby is not."

Harry was going to have to get the stubborn house-elf a gift, along with Neville and Mrs. Longbottom. Harry smiled. There were fifteen people he was giving Christmas gifts to this year. Four years ago, it would have been zero. "Alright, I won't ask you to spoil your surprise for me."

Dobby let out a gleeful cackle and rubbed his hands together eagerly. At the cackling, Neville jerked awake and sat up suddenly. "What's that?" He yawned widely as Dobby snapped his fingers, disappearing in a wisp of smoke.

"Sorry, Neville. I was packing my school trunk." Harry gestured to his green trunk with a silver Slytherin crest on it. In the last week it had been Transfigured when his back was turned. Obviously, Dobby must have managed it from the open doorway.

"Oh," Neville said, flopping back onto his bed. Within moments, his brother flung the covers back, "Oh! We're leaving today?!"

Harry laughed at how forgetful the Gryffindor was as he ran frantically from one side of the room to the other gathering things to toss into his burgundy trunk which was covered in golden lions. "Neville, at least look at the list I made you write yesterday."

"Oh, right," his brother said, dropping what he had in his hands onto his bed and snatching the parchment off the table. Muttering to himself as he read, he shouted, "I almost forgot that!" and rushed to his very large closet, pulling the dress robes, shoes, and tie from it.

Neville was hopelessly disorganized. While Harry's half of the room was very neat and orderly, Neville hardly ever put anything away and was often pushing piles of clothes around to find quills or books he'd left on the floor. Harry wondered if all Gryffindors were this messy or if it was just Neville. Back and forth from the list Neville went, collecting things and shoving them into his trunk which already had an Extended Charm on it. Once he marked the last thing off the list, Neville heaved a sigh of relief and slumped to the floor next to Harry.

"Guess we'll skip morning exercises today," Harry said after looking at the time.

"Oh no! I'm sorry, Harry."

"Don't be. Missing one day won't do much. If you skip all school year…"

"My strength will disappear, won't it?" Neville sighed despondently. "It's going to be hard when you won't be doing the exercises with me."

"We could always get up early to go jogging. And, there are plenty of corridors to use if I'm not allowed outside the castle like last year."

"I would like that very much," his brother said happily.

After a long breakfast, they each donned their cloaks and stepped by their trunks—Harry had his owl in a cage and Neville was holding onto his toad. Even though it had stopped raining, the air was heavy with water as the breeze blew sticky and hot, warning of another inevitable downpour within a few hours. The two stood inside a large oval ring outside on the green, soggy grass, while Mrs. Longbottom appeared from the doorway, wearing the hat topped with a vulture and holding her red Nagaskin handbag. As always, she looked ridiculous in the outfit, but what did Harry know about Wizarding fashion?

Stepping between them, Mrs. Longbottom swept up an arm from the both of them. One arm held tightly by the Matriarch, Harry tightened his other hand on his trunk. She twisted and suddenly Harry felt like he was being sucked down a drinking straw. His eyeballs were pressed to the back of his head, he didn't think he could breathe at all—and then they were in King's Cross train station. She released them and dusted something from her dark green dress. "There we are, dears."

Only a little queasy—he'd been getting used to Side-Along Apparation—Harry put coins into the trolley station and pulled two trolleys off. He and Neville placed their trunks onto it.

"Come along, come along," Mrs. Longbottom said curtly, leading them to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Neville and Harry pushing their noisy trolleys behind her.

Most people stared at the elderly witch before they even looked at Harry and his owl Hedwig. Harry thought it just  _might_  be her hat. Stuffed vultures were meant as a conversation starter in a creepy sitting room, not on top of a hat…

Before long, all that was between them and Hogwarts Express was a magical barrier that appeared to be made entirely of brick. By now, Harry was used to walking straight through it; the tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so to avoid unwanted Muggle attention. As he and Neville chatted unconcernedly while they pushed their trolleys, they slipped through the barrier. Platform nine-and-three-quarters materialized in front of them. The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet engine was already there, its stack billowing with steam. Many Hogwarts students and parents appeared like dark ghosts since the massive skylight above them hardly let in very much light due to the heavy rain. The lanterns all along the train platform were lit, providing just enough light for everyone to get by.

Harry was very glad to say goodbye to Mrs. Longbottom, while Neville seemed sad, giving Mrs. Longbottom another tight hug. Once the old Matriarch turned to leave, the two young wizards put their trunks in the luggage carriage and then headed to Harry's favorite compartment: the last one. Harry slid the door open and saw that three others were already occupying the space.

"Draco," Harry said with a tired look, "I can't believe you got here early."

"Don't sound so surprised," his friend drawled with a sweet tone, "I promised you I would."

Still beside Harry outside the door, Nevile said, "Harry, could I…" He hesitated as his face pinked.

"You don't need my permission to sit with your friends."

"Bye!" Neville darted down the hall, looking through each window as he went.

Harry slid the door shut and took a seat next to an amused-looking Draco. "Why're you smirking like that?"

"Why do you think he went to go sit with someone else?"

"Because he doesn't like you."

Draco clucked his tongue in disappointment and then sighed. "Maybe next year…" He said to the window fondly.

"What?" Harry scowled, swiveling to look at the two snickering teens across from him.

Crabbe and Goyle had grown so large now that they very nearly took up the entire bench by themselves.

"What's so funny?"

"Don't answer him," Draco said with a clipped tone, and Goyle shut his mouth with a frown.

Absolutely discomfited by Draco's behavior, Harry stood up. Before he could even touch the door, Draco said, "Harry, we're not making fun of you, nor do I actually believe that you'd ever date wizards, seeing that you were raised by  _Muggles_. Theodore's told me about Muggle prejudice against such relationships… I believe he called it homophobia...?"

Harry leaned to glare eye-level at Draco. "I am  _not_  homophobic. I think it's vile to want to kiss people."

Having stiffened, Draco laughed, and he covered his mouth looking as if he might be surprised with himself.

"You think that's funny, do you? I'll hex your ears to sprout hair if you don't shut up," Harry growled.

"My apologies. I've just  _never_  heard someone over the age of ten say that before." Draco scooted over. "There. You can have your favorite spot by the window."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry squeezed past Crabbe and Goyle's knees to flop back onto the bench to look at the platform through the glass. There was a reason why Harry didn't immediately leave, even though he disliked the prat. Draco knew more about the goings-on in the Ministry of Magic and at Hogwarts, information that Harry knew he would need that year. The sooner he had it, the less time he had to spend with the prat.

"So… kissing is vile, is it?" Fierce curiosity gleamed in Draco's eyes.

"Like watching two carps with sticky frogs' tongues," Harry said, apprehensive that he was about to be made fun of again.

"You've not had any  _dreams_  either?"

At that, Harry scowled, refusing to tell Draco anything about the horrible 'dream' about Voldemort killing a Muggle. He was probably digging for information to pass to his father.

Draco seemed taken aback at the anger radiating from Harry. "I suppose not any  _good_  ones then," he murmured. "I apologize for asking such a personal question, your Grace."

Harry turned his glare on Goyle, who quickly looked away, and then at Crabbe. Harry blinked, noticing for the first time that Crabbe's face was covered in red bumps and white dots. "You have pimples."

Crabbe grumbled wordlessly at him.

"He had them at the Finals match. I offered him a Zit-Clearing Salve but he won't use it," Draco said.

"No need to waste the stuff on my ugly mug," Crabbe growled.

"You aren't ugly," Harry said, " _You've_  still got your nose." He laughed at his own joke, but they all looked at him with varying degrees of wariness.

"Did you just…" Draco started to say.

"Call Lord Vole ugly? Yes, yes I did," Harry said and picked up a hand, miming his nose getting chopped off. "Imagine someone's dropped an anvil on your bone-white face, that you've got no hair at all, and your eyes are crimson-colored. I don't know why he did that to himself when his journal-self looked normal at sixteen. Then again, he  _was_  just a face on the back of Quirrell's bald head at the time… maybe that has something to do with it."

"You… are ridiculous," Draco managed with a very stiff expression.

"What're you goin' to do when the Dark Lord rises an' you meet him?" Goyle said sounding worried, "Point a finger an'  _laugh_?"

Harry's smile left him, since he remembered that Voldemort intended to use Harry's blood for something, something that would be predictably Dark and evil and horrible… "If I meet him and can't escape? I'd probably be cheeky. I don't think I could laugh at him, knowing all the evil he's done..."

"Enough," Draco demanded, "Tell me who you're bringing to the Yule Ball."

"Yule Ball?" This was the very first time he'd heard of such of an event.

Draco snorted. "Harry, weren't you even a little curious about what hosting the Triwizard Tournament meant for Hogwarts and the British Ministry of Magic?"

"I've been a  _little_  preoccupied," he said hotly.

"So then, you  _don't_  have a date. Are you planning to go…  _stag_?" Draco teased. Crabbe and Goyle laughed.

"Ha, ha," Harry said dryly, recognizing the play on words meant as a jab at the form of prey Harry's Patronus took. "Likely. I'm not interested in a girlfriend—" When Draco's eyebrows lifted, Harry hastily added, "Or a boyfriend. I want to live through the school year intact."

"Without distractions that would certainly be easier. I understand that. What I haven't yet discovered is why you don't just finish your first tier of Magical Education with an army of private tutors." Draco peered at him. "You're not as stupid as you act."

"Because then I wouldn't get the experience of dealing with people my age," Harry said flippantly. "Besides, how would I know these hypothetical tutors weren't secretly planning to kill me? I'd think it'd be easier to do it when I'm not surrounded by other students."

Draco snorted. "That is the most Slytherin justification I've heard from you yet."

"Why?"

"We're all meat-shields masquerading as underage students to better protect your Grace," Draco said with a flourished hand. "The chances of poison or a cursed object reaching you are very low indeed around so many kleptomaniacs."

Harry was struck by how horrid that was… and yet he laughed. In the distance, a train whistle blew. The pistons hissed loudly as the Hogwarts Express began to move. As soon as the train had rolled out the station, heavy rain splattered onto the windows, making it very difficult to see out of them. Harry wondered where Sally-Anne and Theodore were. They usually made an effort to pop in to say 'hi'.

"Speaking of alternative education plans, Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts. He knows the headmaster, you see. And well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore—the man's such a Muggle-born lover—and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff."

"So, you would've been shipped to where? Bulgaria? Why aren't you there then?" Harry looked through the blurry panes of glass seeing grey and white buildings.

"My mother. You see, Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away."

"What's so great about Durmstrang?"

"Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually  _learn_  them, not just the defense rubbish we do…"

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. Draco continued telling Harry all sorts of interesting information about Durmstrang and Beauxbatons and useful behind-the-scenes details of hosting the Triwizard Tournament; that is, the exasperating volume of paperwork, the extent of political grandstanding and bureaucratic flattery, and the obscene amount of bribes required to make the Triwizard Tournament happen.

The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry stood up to buy some cauldron cakes like he normally did.

"Anything from the trolley, dear?"

"Three—"

"Two Chocolate Frogs, a pack of Cream Nougats, and a Licorice Wand," Draco listed off and then paid the old witch, who handed him the items.

"What'd you like?" The witch asked Harry politely.

"Oh, er…"

"Two Pumpkin Pasties, please," a sweet voice interrupted him quietly.

Harry looked up and saw that it was Cho Chang, Ravenclaw's Seeker, and she looked really beautiful. She smiled at him and he smiled back, completely forgetting he wanted anything from the trolley at all.

"Anything sweet for you, dear?"

In a daze, Harry watched Cho Chang and her giggling friends go back down the hall. "Oh, no, I'm not hungry. Thank you." He slid the door shut and sat down, feeling off.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked as he chewed on the licorice wand.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Harry smiled again. He wondered if Cho Chang would want to go to the Yule Ball with him.

"It's just… you're acting awfully  _queer_  all of a sudden. I thought that perhaps you'd been sprayed with a Love Potion."

Harry's scar stung a little, and he lightly scratched it.

"Is that bothering you?"

"I'm fine," Harry said and smiled, forcing his hand to the seat.

"I am having difficulty believing you…"

"I can't imagine  _why._ You don't trust anything but your own two eyes," an annoyed Harry said.

"Give me your wrist."

"What for?"

"Humor me."

Harry let him. Draco pressed two fingers against Harry's slow pulse, a skill likely acquired from his godfather.

"Is your scar hurting?"

"I told you; it's  _fine_."

"And, you're lying; you know, I hate it when you lie to me," Draco said with an offended huff and released him. "You were  _mooning_  over that Ravenclaw."

"I wasn't mooning over Cho Chang!" Harry felt his face heat up when Crabbe and Goyle began to chuckle.

With a shrewd look, Draco leaned against the chair cushion, appraising Harry. "I suggest you ask her to the Yule Ball before someone else gets the chance to. A pretty girl like that won't be on the market long."

Harry stood up and slid open the door.

"You're going to ask her  _now_?"

"No. Need some fresh air. All this talk of dating's turned my stomach," Harry said. Having nothing better to do, he went to the luggage carriage to pull out his school robes. He took off his cloak and magically Switched out his clothes for school robes. Finished, he slipped the Spellfast cloak back around his shoulders, when he heard giggling towards the back of the carriage.

Harry blinked as the shadows formed into Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's Quidditch Team Captain and Seeker, and the lovely Cho Chang. They were snogging, and rather heatedly too. Embarrassed and disgusted to have seen them, Harry hurried out of the luggage carriage and re-entered the passenger carriage. He had decided to find Sally-Anne and Theodore, but unfortunately a blond Pureblood was being a bloody prat.

"So… going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know… you'd be able to afford some decent dress robes if you won…" Draco taunted through a compartment door one down from theirs. Harry heaved a sigh and rubbed the place between his eyebrows.

"What are you talking about?" Ron's voice snapped.

" _Are you going to enter_?" Draco repeated more slowly.

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," came the redhead's sharp response.

"Don't tell me you don't know? I thought Longbottom or Granger would have said something to you." Harry could hear the glee in his voice as Harry pushed to get past Crabbe and Goyle, who didn't seem all that eager to move for him. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even  _know_ , Weasley? _Merlin_ ,  _my_  father told me about it ages ago… he heard it from Cornelius Fudge himself. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry… Maybe your father's too junior to know about it… yes… they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him. And I suppose you wouldn't dare to enter, Granger. You're too tame for a Lion and too cowardly—"

Hermione said something, before she was cut off by a furious Ron.

" _Cowardly?!"_ Ron shouted. "That's like the kettle calling the cauldron black, you rat-faced git!"

"You've taken a barrel full of insults and have yet to hex me. That makes you a coward as well, doesn't it?" The prat's pale hand hovered near his wand holster. There was a roar of anger, the sound of scuffling coming from the Gryffindors' compartment.

"Draco! Leave them alone before I hex your nose off!" Harry yelled from behind Crabbe's thick elbow.

The other Slytherin laughed and turned away from the compartment, and Crabbe and Goyle parted like the Red Sea had before Moses. "Ah, there you are, Harry. I was bored when you left us alone."

The door of the compartment was slammed shut so hard that the glass all broke out. " _Ron!_ " Hermione's yell was rather reproachful.

"Don't be angry with him, 'Mione. Malfoy was riling him up. And none of us can enter. Malfoy said so before," Neville said before the sound of glass repairing itself reached Harry's ears.

The four Slytherins re-entered the last compartment, and Goyle quietly shut the compartment door.

"There's no excuse for being a prat and you know it." Harry glared at Draco.

"Oh, are you going to lecture me, your Grace? Tell me to stop baiting him? What sort of replacement behaviors are you going to suggest to me? I can't wait to hear them."

Harry gave him an appalled look. "You sound  _excited_ …"

"I enjoy any practice in taking express advantage of loopholes."

"Here's a challenge for you: Find someone older than yourself from Slytherin to bait," Harry said. "Once you've angered them enough, challenge them to a duel. That way you get to practice your abysmal dueling skills while still keeping your tongue sharp."

"We're not supposed to bait our housemates. It's against the Code," Draco scoffed.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Harry said. "Leave the Gryffindors alone this year."

Draco leaned intimidatingly closer to Harry, his grey eyes sparking. "And what… would you do in exchange? You already owe me two favors."

Harry was stunned because Draco was right. It had completely slipped his mind that he was in no position to negotiate when Draco had the upper hand. "What do you want?"

"I want you to be civil to our Head of House."

Giving Draco a long look, Harry scowled. "I won't."

"Not even if I use both my favors  _and_  promise not to start fights with the Gryffindorks?"

Harry was sorely tempted... But it seemed too good to be true. "I don't think I could," he admitted. "Snape's been a git to me ever since Black was freed and you saw how he was like at the end of last year."

"Well… why don't we do a trial run then? I'll use a favor right away if you give a good effort in being polite and respectful to my godfather."

Harry sighed. "I don't know why you want me to be nice to him."

"We Slytherins need a consolidated front when the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students arrive. If you're constantly undermining Professor Snape, how would that look to an outsider?" Draco lifted an eyebrow.

"Like I'm a spoiled brat," Harry muttered, slightly covering his mouth with a cupped hand as he gazed at the patterns on the fabric of the bench seat by his leg.

"Precisely," Draco said loftily, "The Bulgarian Minister of Magic was making fun of Minister Fudge when he feigned excitement at your scar. To the foreign delegations, the Boy-Who-Lived is a miracle survivor of the Killing Curse and nothing more. You're a Magical Oddity, a quirky accident of Fate, not the Savior of the  _entire_  Wizarding World. You've only saved the Isles of Magical Britain, you see. The Dark Lord wasn't interested in any other nations like the still-feared Grindelwald."

"Alright. I'll give it a go, but I won't be held responsible if Snape's being a bastard," Harry said. Goyle gave him an encouraging smile, while Crabbe was looking out the window, bored.

Thank goodness that the journey to Hogsmeade station didn't take much longer. Harry had grown moody apart from his best mates. Besides, Draco had already used up all the informative topics that Harry even remotely cared about and was now filling the compartment with his usual bluster. Soon the Hogwarts Express was slowing and came to a stop in the pitch-darkness. Harry heard Draco cast,  _"Impervius!"_  over himself, Crabbe, and Goyle. As the train doors opened there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Harry pulled the hood up on his Spellfast cloak and they left the train together. The rain was coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads. Thank goodness for the Repellant Charm set into Harry's cloak or else he would have been miserably wet as well as cold.

"Hullo, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', 'Arry?" Hagrid bellowed back, holding his giant lantern up high in the downpour. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid. Harry chuckled to himself.

"I heard the giant squid's friendly, you hack!" Draco yelled back, startling Harry.

Hagrid laughed and waved at them as the first years clustered around him.

Harry turned towards Draco in the dark rain. There was only the soggy light of the lanterns to help him make out the prat's cool expression. "There's a giant squid in Black Lake?"

"Please, how else would the headmaster be allowed to let eleven-year-olds cross that lake in this sort of weather?"

"I hope it  _is_  friendly then," Harry said, slogging through the mud to the hundred carriages tethered to bizarre not-quite-horses waiting for them outside the station.

"Of course it's  _friendly_ ," Draco said, "Didn't I just say it was?"

Snorting at Draco's disgusted tone, Harry climbed in after the three of them and shut the door with a snap. A few moments later, with a great lurch, their carriage was pulled, rumbling and sloshing its way up the muddy track towards Hogwarts Castle.

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars—and free of any horrible dementors—the carriages trundled behind the strangely reptilian winged horses, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window which he had to draw his cloak across to look through, Harry could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt, the black not-horse throwing its head back with a loud snort. Harry was surprised that Draco hadn't complained the whole trip up the sweeping drive, instead talking about the good and bad qualities of this girl or that from their own house. The great front doors of Hogwarts were open, and Harry could see students already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Maybe he would find Sally-Anne and Theodore inside… He missed them both quite terribly.


	4. Unpleasant Truths

Pulling the hood of his cloak up, Harry opened the door of the carriage and jumped down onto the flooded gravel driveway. He wasn't in any hurry to rush up the steps since the rain stayed off of him, and he was enjoying the silent hiss and droplets of water spraying him as the intermittent thunder rumbled in the air around him. He carelessly splashed through the water with his Dragon-hide boots. The Slytherins made it up the slick stone stairs. Once inside, he pulled the hood down and looked up with a deep satisfied breath. He'd missed the cavernous, torch-lit Entrance Hall with its magnificent marble staircase. He stopped by Salazar Slytherin's painting and bowed. "Hello, Mr. Slytherin."

"Good evening, Harry Potter," the painting responded in heavily accented English. "Are these your friends?"

Draco gasped behind him. Harry turned with a grin, gesturing towards his roommate. "This is Draco, the thirty-second heir of the Malfoys, and his entourage, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They're fourth-year Slytherins like me."

Somebody made a small squeak of noise and grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Are you introducing me too?" came Theodore's delighted voice.

"Theodore Nott," Harry said with a grin. "The only other fourth-year Slytherin boy." He shot an annoyed look at him. Theodore's lips looked curiously swollen, and there was a small bruise forming against his neck. He didn't look as though he'd gotten into a fight. Why was he out of breath?

"I bid you a good evening on this fine day," Salazar Slytherin said.

"Fine?" Draco echoed. "It's raining like the dickens!"

The ancient wizard smiled slowly. "Yes, without the rain our lands would have become deserts by now… Unless you prefer to live as our Middle-Eastern brethren do."

Someone cleared their throat loudly. "Potter…"

"And  _that_  is our Head of House, Severus Snape," Harry said, "I've told you about him, haven't I?"

"We've met," Salazar Slytherin said, his expression one of oblique amusement.

"Potter, get in the Great Hall so the Sorting Ceremony may commence," Snape growled as his eyes flashed dangerously. "And might I suggest that you curb your penchant for arrogant posturing…?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said mustering a polite tone. He bowed towards the painting, who nodded, and went up the steps to the Great Hall without another word, the rest of his roommates following and chatting excitedly about the animated portrait behind him.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the Start-of-Term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the High Table, the staff sat along one side, facing their pupils. It was nicely warm inside. It appeared that this year the Gryffindors and Slytherins had been placed on opposite sides of the Great Hall. Harry sat at the Slytherin Table on the far right against the windowless wall. Pearly white and translucent, the Bloody Baron was already floating above their table, appearing expectant to know who the newly Sorted Slytherins would be this year. "Good evening," the ghost said to them as they finally sat down at the table.

"Is it?" Harry said, taking off his mud-caked Dragon-hide boots and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."

He was aware that Theodore and Draco were having a heated discussion like they had on the walk to the Quidditch Stadium, but he chose to ignore what they arguing about. "I would have thought you'd be curious about the Sorting since you've never been able to witness one yet," the gaunt-faced Bloody Baron said to him.

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it," Harry agreed, "I only hope it doesn't take too long." He carefully cast a Drying Charm on his boots and soaked socked feet. They instantly dried. The clumped dirt was cleared with a Cleaning Charm

"Hiya, Harry!" A breathless, highly excited voice called from behind him.

Harry blinked. It was Colin Creevey, a third-year Gryffindor to whom Harry was something of a hero. "Hullo, Creevey," Harry said. The boy had always left him feeling worn down.

"It's Colin!" The teen let out an exasperated sigh. "Harry, guess what, guess what? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis is to be Sorted in a few minutes!"

"Er… good for him," Harry said.

"He's really excited!" Creevey said, practically bouncing up and down where he stood, a Muggle camera jostling against his chest. Harry wondered how he had kept the rain off of it. Maybe a slicker? "I just hope he's in Gryffindor!"

"Er—yeah, all right," Harry agreed, "I'd get back to your table before Professor McGonagall scolds you."

"Okay!" The boy said cheerfully and darted back to the other side of the Great Hall.

"Just so long as he's not in Slytherin," Draco said as an aside. "A Muggle-born doesn't deserve a place in our ranks."

"You're worried about his blood purity?" Sally-Anne asked with mirth. Harry noticed that the collar of the shirt beneath her robes oddly went up to her chin and that her lips were slightly reddened. He wondered if she had started staining her lips like he'd seen older teenaged girls do before. "I'd be more concerned about whether this Dennis is like his older brother," she quipped.

When Draco scowled at her, Harry laughed. "So, Daphne, is it common for brothers and sisters to get Sorted into the same House?" On the topic of siblings being Sorted, Harry thought of Daphne's sister, Astoria Greengrass, in Slytherin and the five Weasleys, who'd gone through Gryffindor.

"As a general trend, yes. But you have times where those to be Sorted want to be placed elsewhere, such as the Patil twins. And then there's people like Sirius Black…" Sally-Anne paused with a frown, adjusting her glasses.

"He was in Gryffindor," Harry supplied.

"The entire Black family had been through Slytherin before he was Sorted there," Pansy said. As usual she was sitting across from Harry, flanked on either side by Daphne and Tracey. The ever-reading Bulstrode had chosen to sit across from Goyle. "Kind of like how you were Sorted Slytherin when Potters were often Sorted Gryffindor or, more rarely, Hufflepuff."

Tracey nodded. "Later, Sirius Black was disowned before he became of age for siding with the wrong sort."

"I see…" Harry hoped his being in Slytherin wouldn't cause problems between him and Sirius. He didn't think it would, judging by how his godfather treated him last year. More than anything he wished the trial would finish before the first school term was up. Then Harry could spend Christmas Holiday with his godfather.

He looked up at the staff table. There were quite a few empty seats, since Hagrid was still leading the first years across the lake and Professor McGonagall was likely waiting for them to arrive. There was tiny Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra who had Astronomy expertise. To her other side was the Muggle Studies teacher, and to her left was Professor Vector. Next to the Arithmancy professor was Professor Snape, Potions Master and Harry's least favorite person in Hogwarts. After last year, Harry dislike of the man was matched only by Snape's loathing of him.

On the other side of Snape was Professor Babbling the Study of Ancient Runes teacher, and beside her sat Professor Dumbledore, at the very center of the table. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts. His sweeping silver hair and beard shone in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons.

The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the enchanted ceiling, too. Harry had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across is, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

The Great Hall doors opened and silence fell like a heavy curtain. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the front of the Hall where a three-legged stool sat in front of the headmaster. The first years appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table. They came to a halt, and many of them turned to look at the tables full of students with wide eyes.

They all had various looks of misery or dissatisfaction upon their countenances, except for the smallest boy of the lot, a painfully excited boy with mousy hair who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The boy's small face protruded from over the collar of the coat which appeared like a furry black circus tent around his frame. Harry saw him mouth,  _I fell in the lake!_ , at someone in Gryffindor and give a double thumbs-up. Harry couldn't help the chortle bubble up from his chest at the boy's antics. He thought he might be Sorted into Hufflepuff if he wasn't in Gryffindor.

Professor McGonagall now placed an extremely old, dirty, and patched wizard's hat on the stool. The first years stared at it, as did everyone else. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth in the silence, and the hat broke into song. Harry learned more about where the founders were from and why they'd made the hat  _'While still alive they did divide / Their favorites from the throng, / Yet how to pick the worthy ones / When they were dead and gone?_ ' Harry found himself surprised that it was Godric Gryffindor's idea to create the Sorting Hat. When the hat finally finished, Harry looked thoughtful after hearing its last quatrain... ' _Now slip me snug about your ears, / I've never yet been wrong, / I'll have a look inside your mind / And tell where you belong!'_

The Great Hall rang with applause when the Sorting Hat finished.

Harry certainly was fitting in better among the Slytherins; something he hadn't thought was possible after being Sorted his first year. It really wasn't so bad being a Viper if a person discounted the constant suspicion against them and the expectation that they were all destined to become villains.

There were several now-graduated Slytherins who certainly didn't fall into that category. Gilbert, for one, had expressed his desire once to Harry about becoming a curse-breaker. Pitts was another; she had desired to become a Healer to those afflicted by curses. And despite Flint's Neanderthal looks, he relied mainly on Quidditch strategies rather than brute strength to win matches, unlike his successor Graham Montague. None of these now-alumni had given off the air of desiring villainy despite their surly, blunt manners.

"Is it normal for the hat to sing a different song at each Sorting?" Harry asked as he clapped politely.

"It has so far," Sally-Anne replied.

At the front of the hall before the staff table, Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment and telling the first years how the Sorting process worked. One by one each first year was Sorted. The first Slytherin was the second in line: Malcolm Baddock. Harry cheered and clapped along with the rest of his table to welcome the overwhelmed-looking first year. There was another name before 'Creevey, Dennis!' had been announced. Perking up, he looked up to see it was the mousy boy, who had worn Hagrid's overcoat and had since returned it. As soon as the Sorting Hat was placed on the small boy's head, the hat announced "SLYTHERIN!"

" _No_ ," Draco said. His face looked disgusted by the prospect.

"Oh,  _yes_ ," Theodore responded, unaffected by Draco's blistering glare. "It's about time we had proud Muggle-borns in our house."

"Proud?" Harry asked.

"It's people like our dear Draco that drive others to pretend they've got ancient magical bloodlines—"

"Dennis! Dennis!"

Ignoring Draco's rather heated ranting about proper bloodlines, Harry looked up to see Colin Creevey bouncing up and down excitedly on the sitting bench at the Gryffindor table.

"See that boy over there?" The Gryffindor bellowed, pointing towards Harry. "The one by the ghost on the other side of the Hall?  _Know who he is, Dennis?!_ "

"Mr. Creevey! Sit down!" Professor McGonagall was not pleased to be interrupted mid-announcement of the name of the next child to be Sorted. The grinning Gryffindor sat down, unbothered by how his housemates were whispering and glancing furtively in Dennis' direction.

And the scouting first year was quite suddenly by Harry's side.

"Hello, Creevey," the Bloody Baron said solemnly.

"Hi!" Dennis chirped up at the ghost and then didn't give him a second glance. "My brother's told me all about you, Harry. It's too bad Colin wasn't Sorted here; he's missing out since he can't see you much when you spend loads of time in the Slytherin Dungeons. Will you teach me the Disarming Charm? Colin said you're absolutely the  _best_."

The Sorting continued, and Harry wasn't sure how to respond to the overeager boy beyond 'Er.' and 'Um.'

"I already know a lot about Astronomy; Colin's taught me a bunch! But he said you're the smartest, most loyal Slytherin of the lot and that—"

"Welcome to the Slytherin House, Dennis," Theodore interrupted. Then, Harry's werewolf friend waved his wand, and Dennis' robes were no longer wet. "That ought to be better. So your parents are Muggles?"

"Thanks! And, yeah, but dad's fine with it now that he knows why the oddest things would happen around us." The first year, not to be so easily dissuaded, turned back to Harry. "You'll teach me that spell too, won't you? The others said that Slytherins hate people like me, but I don't really care. Besides, Colin said you wouldn't let any of them hurt me."

"Gravy said that, did he?" Draco's face was pinched as if he were speaking to a pile of horse manure.

"Yeah! Harry Potter's best friends with Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born just like me, and he defends her all the time." Dennis turned his excited brown eyes upon Harry. "Can we be best friends too?"

"Er," Harry said not knowing what to do, while his fellow Slytherins continued to clap each time a new first year joined their table. If he outright rejected Dennis, no doubt Draco would use that as an excuse to make the first year's life at Hogwarts an interminable hell.

"Aw, cute. You've got another fan," Theodore said, winking at Sally-Anne who rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

"Another ickle little Potterhead," Draco mocked.

"Oh shut it," Harry groused.

"I'm not a Potterhead; I'm a Pleasant Pal! Wait a sec!" Dennis dug into his robes and held out his PP's PP badge like a token of honor before pinning it to his robes. "See?"

That sent Harry's roommates into helpless snickering; it would've been unwise to gather Professor McGonagall's ire and so muffled their amusement so as not to disrupt the Sorting Ceremony.

Harry pressed a hand against his face. Why couldn't the small boy have been Sorted into Gryffindor?

"You'd be the very first Slytherin to join that club," Sally-Anne informed the puzzled boy, when the excitement he seemed to expect didn't come.

"Huh. But it's the best of the Potter fan clubs, since not everyone's from the same House, and we're the most active. And George said it makes for great networking opportunities, and they have a band of smugglers too you can join. Sounds exciting don't you think?"

Draco looked towards the small boy with the eyes of someone who hadn't expected to hear those words. "Smuggling…?  _You_?"

Dennis smirked. "Jealous? You'd have to be a Pleasant Pal. Too bad you aren't. Maybe you should join!"

The Malfoy heir continued to blink at the diminutive boy as if he didn't know quite what to do with him.

'Pritchard, Graham!' was the last boy to join the Slytherin table. There were only about ten students left to be Sorted.

"So," Dennis said, "Now that we're best mates—"

"What?" Harry's face crinkled at the first year. He didn't recall agreeing to that.

"I've always wanted to say that you're  _the best._ I wish we were brothers, and I'd be a lot cooler younger brother than Neville Longbottom," gushed the boy, who then hugged Harry. The Boy Who Lived had faced many things; a pushy and persistent fan was not one of them. "And if you want me to do anything at all, it'll be done!"

"Look," Draco said harshly, "You little Chiz-bitten—"

Thankfully, Prefect Sykes appeared before Draco could say something nastier. "Dennis Creevey, all the first years are to eat together," she said, shooting Draco a sharp look. He merely slipped his most charming smile on.

"But, Harry doesn't mind me at all, do you, Harry?" Dennis' eyes widened, taking on a quality of a watery-eyed pup.

"Erm," Harry said, uncomfortable. "Actually—I was hoping to eat with my mates. I haven't seen them all year," he lied, since he had certainly seen some of them during the Quidditch World Cup.

"Oh," the first year deflated, looking quite put out as if he recognized Harry's lie for what it was. "I'll stop annoying you. Sorry. I'll see you later then!" He hopped off the bench next to Harry and was escorted by the prefect to the group of first years. He kept sneaking glances over his shoulder in Harry's direction.

Harry let out a relieved sigh. Now he was absolutely famished. His year-mates expressed various degrees of amusement at his situation. He scowled at them.

"Congratulations on acquiring an authentic toebiter," Draco said, dripping sarcasm.

"If I had one, I'd want one just as adorable. Wouldn't you, Sally-Anne?" Theodore pressed his nose against the side of her head.

The brunette swiped him away. "I doubt it. He'd get under foot all the time."

"I certainly would like a manservant to carry my things everywhere," Pansy said distantly. "Too bad Flippy's not allowed at Hogwarts. It doesn't seem fair not to allow one's personal house-elf onto the grounds."

"It's not fair to the rest of us who don't have one," Tracey said.

Draco snorted. "Not to mention that you own  _three_. Hardly fair at all."

A smile came across Pansy's face. "If  _your_  family owned a breeding farm, you could have as many as you like."

"Why else do you think his father proposed a marriage contract to your father?" Daphne said with a feral grin.

"You bint," Draco growled, "Stay out—"

"Maybe your father should have forked over the money for a proper Occlumency tutor instead of relying on your mummy-dearest," the natural Legilimens said sweetly. "Poor little dragon…"

"You  _dare—"_  The blond hissed out.

Theodore grabbed Draco's right arm before he yanked out his wand.

'Shastri, Bhupen' was the last girl to join the Slytherins, while all three of Daphne's friends looked coolly at Draco.

"Afraid to challenge her to a duel, little dragon?" Tracey said mockingly.

Harry held his breath when Draco tensed and fought to free his arm to no avail. "Unhand me," the blond spat at Theodore.

"Can't do that. Not when I know you'll hex them on the spot."

Meanwhile, the last two names of the Sorting were called. Farther down the table, Prefect Renshaw cast a Drying Charm on the last shivering first year. She thanked him and sat with the others.

Not to be left out, Pansy murmured, "Draco Malfoy the cowardly dragon." Her friends snorted and giggled next to her.

Unable to free himself from Theodore's strong grip, Draco grabbed his empty goblet and it filled. He took a small sip, eyes narrowed at them. "You will regret this."

"Hah! You wouldn't dare."

At that moment, Professor Dumbledore stood up and was smiling at the students, most of whom had silenced, his arms opened wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you," he said in his deep voice, which reverberated through the Great Hall, "Tuck in!"

"Hear, hear!" Sally-Anne proclaimed as the dishware magically filled before their eyes. Thinking the impasse was over, Harry stuffed his face eagerly, not caring a bit about blasted manners. While he was Hogwarts, he would eat as sloppily as he wanted  _without_  someone giving him buckets!

Quick as lightning, Draco tossed the goblet, contents and all, at the three teenagers. Theodore lunged forward, grabbing the gold goblet by the bottom before it smashed into Daphne's nose.

The golden liquid splashed onto the trio who yelped as soon as it touched their flawless skin. Pansy's nose grew crooked and pug-like and her lips thinned, her rosy cheeks turning pale and her hair streaked with grey; Daphne's cheeks grew fatter and her nose sprouted a field of red sores and acne; and a shiny, jagged scar appeared on Tracey's face from her right cheekbone down her chin and neck as if the skin had been melted. Tracey pulled up her cloak and hunched her shoulders, covering her face.

Draco cackled as if watching Tracey cry was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. "Yaxley wouldn't have thrown that flask of Bundimun Acid on you if you hadn't refused his marriage proposal, you ugly Half-blood bitch."

While Harry gaped at Draco's dumb fearlessness, an enraged Pansy stood up, whipping out her curved violet-blue wand in a practiced motion. " _Furnunculus_!" she shrieked.

Immediately Draco's triumphant face was covered in crusty, grey boils, swelling his pale skin into layers of bark-like, brittle pimples. With one look at his face, Crabbe burst into laughter. Goyle's eyes were large as they darted between them. Draco touched his face, his upper lip curling with contempt. " _You dare_? My father—"

Standing, Sally-Anne with a look of intense concentration swung her wand through a complex wand-form over Draco. " _Avifors,"_ her voice cut out with uncharacteristic sharpness. There was a flash and a blond nightingale perched on the table where Draco once was. Theodore snapped out a hand to catch the bird before it could fly away. Sally-Anne put her wand away, sitting down to finish eating as the bird squawked its displeasure.

The rain was drumming heavily against the high, dark glass across from Harry, who had remained motionless. He had never felt so repulsed by Draco than he had in that moment.

"Who is responsible for Malfoy's current form?" It was Prefect Dedworth and she looked extremely displeased.

"I am," Pansy answered with uncharacteristic harshness before Sally-Anne could. Sally-Anne's eyes fluttered in surprise. "That arse threw Fawley's Nectar on us!"

"Parkinson, you have detention every evening for the rest of the month, excepting Sundays and Astronomy lessons," the prefect said. She didn't sound like she cared what had started it.

"But that's not fair!" Harry protested on their behalf, "Draco threw that stuff on them to make them look terrible and was absolutely foul to Tracey!"

Ignoring him, the prefect told the affected trio, "Go to the infirmary with Prefect Sykes." A grim-faced Bulstrode left with her friends, all of them surrounding a subdued Tracey, whose scarred face was hidden in the depths of the cowl of her robes. Then the prefect held out a hand for the squirming panicked bird, which Theodore passed to her. The bird immediately began to peck at her gloved hand. "And you, Malfoy, your godfather will see about a proper punishment."

Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with a course of dessert.

Professor Snape had appeared silently beside Dedworth. His long fingers wrapped about his Transfigured godson. He waved a wand over the bird and it slumped in his hand. "Perhaps we'll fit a cage about him until he's gained a healthy respect for the fairer sex," he murmured towards the prefect who grinned. After one look at Crabbe and Goyle, the Slytherin Head of House strolled out of the Great Hall, the bird's light yellow feathers sticking through the fingers of his closed fist. Draco's two lackeys abandoned their desserts and stumbled from their places to catch up.

Theodore frowned at Sally-Anne. "Sal, he'll be out for your blood now. Why'd you go and do something silly like that?"

 _Sal_? Harry thought.

She shrugged, taking another bite of her ice cream. "Let him. I'll wipe the floor with Draco when he underestimates me." She sent a glare at Harry, who startled. "And before you start making an arse out of yourself, at least know what you're talking about."

Harry scowled. "Just say what you mean. No need to beat around the bush."

"Fawley's Nectar, also called Lovelorn Liquor, is a high-nutrient stimulant and also one of the few substances that can wash away enchantments created by potions," she said sounding very put upon.

He blinked, recalling what Draco had said about someone throwing acid on Tracey. "…Oh." So then, the substance had revealed their true faces. How long had they worn pretty, false masks to hide their faces beneath? Other than vanity, Harry didn't understand why anyone would bother to cover up faces that weren't exceedingly hideous to look upon. Daphne and Pansy had looked rather normal to him.

"Do you even know why I'm angry with you?" When Harry frowned, she sighed some of the venom leaving her tone. "I'm angry because you could have ended it before the fight went anywhere. Why didn't you do anything?"

"He surprised me," Harry said lamely. "And what was I supposed to do? It got out of hand quicker than I could react."

Sally-Anne snorted. "While Theo had his hands full, you could've used a Freezing Charm on them and stopped them instantly."

"Why didn't you?"

"I gave you an example of what you could have done so don't you turn this on me. At least, I  _did_ something."

Harry swallowed. She was right, of course. Simply telling Draco to stop had never worked before, but Harry was leery about challenging him to a duel now that Snape backed his rotten godson so Harry couldn't exactly make Draco obey him by dueling fiat as he had done in previous years. "Alright. I admit that I botched that. I'll have my wand ready next time."

Sally-Anne's shoulders relaxed. Then she turned her face away and muttered, "To be honest, you wouldn't have to hex him."

He blinked at her. When the young witch drank heavily from her cup instead of clarifying her statement, Theodore said, "I suppose you  _haven't_  noticed that you're the only one Draco listens to besides Professor Snape and the prefects."

Harry quashed the denial before it left his lips. Ever since he had pushed Draco out of the way of the hippogriff, the other Slytherin had treated Harry with his harsh brand of friendliness, more authentic than the niceties that Draco had given Harry their first two years at Hogwarts. It was edged with malice and tempered with greed. Instead of ridiculing Harry's knowledge of the Muggle world, Draco had listened and suggested that Harry profit from it. Like Hermione who had been indignant that the Dursleys had escaped justice by the Muggle courts, Draco cared enough about Harry's mistreatment by Muggles to try to prevent others from facing the same fate, albeit by removing magical children from their Muggle families. And, the bloody prat had gotten himself a once-abused house-elf.

Glancing once at Theodore who was murmuring something into Sally-Anne's reddened ear, Harry began to eat his then-untouched treacle pudding. Either Draco was trying his hardest to slip into Harry's good graces or this was the prat's version of genuine friendship. Whichever it was, Harry still would not trust him, especially considering how cruel the prat was to the trio of Slytherin teens who had dared to tease him.

Once the desserts had disappeared, and the last bits had faded from the dishes, leaving them sparkling clean, the headmaster got to his feet once more. The buzz of chatter filling the Great Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" Albus Dumbledore said, smiling at them once more. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

"Wonder what he's going to warn us about this year," Theodore muttered with a stern grimness. "Besides the Tourney, I mean."

"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all those below third year. In addition, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has added to the list of objects forbidden inside the castle this year, it now includes Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises of some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check to see if they have contraband items."

Harry didn't miss the wide grins on the Weasley twins' faces as they high-fived one another when the headmaster began to list the banned items.

"Furthermore, due to a persistent, unwanted intruder last year, an additional measure to Hogwarts' Security Linkages has been added."

Murmuring from the students, especially the prefects, increased.

He raised his hands for their silence. "Every House now has a contingent of no less than twenty Opalescent Lionsnakes. Professor Sprout certifies that they are free of disease or ailments. These snakes are for your protection from unwanted presences or express danger to your persons. They will not attack a student unless threatened first…" Professor Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at the silent students. "I strongly recommend you do not harass them… Their bites are lethal as are their stingers and their featherless quills have a paralyzing effect that lasts for many days at the very least."

The Hufflepuffs immediately began to scream, not in fear, but with elation. Harry saw that many of them were jumping up from their benches hugging one another happily. Harry was perplexed at their reaction. The Ravenclaws looked unwell as they shot suspicious glares at the Slytherins, while the Gryffindors mostly looked bewildered. Poor Neville was looking rather peaky…

Sally-Anne shuddered. "Those Badgers are entirely too excited."

"When do you ever get the chance to live among Lionsnakes?" Theodore countered, placing a hand on her shoulder. "They'll keep most other Dark Creatures out too. We won't have to worry about lethifolds sneaking in and suffocating us in our sleep."

Harry gave Theodore a puzzled look.

"It happens more frequently than people admit," he said matter-of-factly. When Harry frowned at him, Theodore said, "It's my boggart, you know?"

Harry blinked, remembering the darkness that seeped and clung to Theodore's legs, sucking him into the floor. So  _that_  had been a lethifold.

"You didn't know?" Sally-Anne said. "What have you been doing with the book Theo gave you for your birthday last year?"

"It has well over two hundred thousand entries in it. Most experts don't even know everything in it," Theodore said brightly.

"But you do." Sally-Anne smiled. "It's too bad that you won't be able to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts once you've graduated. I think you'd be good at it."

"Yeah, too bad about that," the werewolf said distantly as he looked at Sally-Anne and she at him.

Bright blue fireworks popped and crackled from the end of the headmaster's wand. Harry looked up as the Great Hall silenced around them.

"Thank you," Professor Dumbledore said as the corners of his mouth twitched. "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"WHAT?!" Several students from other tables exclaimed unhappily. Others seemed too shocked to speak.

The headmaster went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year. It will take up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will enjoy this event immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder  _inside_ the Great Hall and the enchanted ceiling let out several bright flashes of light.

A great spiral of energy shot out from someone's wand from the doorway beside the staff table. The enchanted ceiling went silent, and a wizard, shrouded in a black traveling cloak, was seen tucking his wand away. His right eye was very strange and bulbous, and he was leaning upon a long staff. Every head in the Great Hall had swiveled toward the stranger.

"Look who the dogs brought in," Theodore muttered under his breath. "It's Mad-Eye Moody."

Harry glanced at him. "Who?"

"Ex-Auror. Word on the streets has him facing off a couple of Bewitched Muggle trashbins almost a week ago. But he's retired now. He must owe Dumbledore a favor to come work here."

"Auror?" Both of Neville's parents and his father had been one, but he didn't know exactly what the work entailed.

"I knew I forgot to do something…" Theodore said brushing his chin.

"What?"

"The petition for the Wizard Studies class."

"But you said you already—oh, you git, you're having me on, aren't you?"

Theodore winked. "You're too easy."

Sally-Anne said, "Professor Dumbledore told us it was a good idea. I expect that it won't be offered until next year since it'll take time to develop a curriculum for it and get it through the school governors."

"To answer your question, Harry, an Auror is a Dark Wizard catcher. Nearly half of Azkaban is filled because of Mad-Eye Moody. One benefit is that we shouldn't have to worry about him this year. He's a…  _good_   _guy_ ," Theodore said. His lips twisted with displeasure. So… Theodore didn't much care for Moody.

"Ah…" Harry said. The fact that their new DADA professor was excellent at catching Dark Wizards and was friends with Professor Dumbledore also lowered the chances of Voldemort replacing Moody with his own Polyjuiced servant.

A dull  _clank_  echoed through the Great Hall on his every other step. Professor Moody reached the end of the High Table, turned left, and limped heavily toward Professor Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning brought the wizard's features into sharp relief. His face was much more grotesque than Tracey's disfigurement. Every inch of his face seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash and a large chunk of the nose was missing. The bulbous eye was electric blue and was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, rolling this way and that, quite independent of Moody's normal, dark beady left eye. At one point, the magical eye rolled to the back of his head, and all Harry could see was a completely white back of it. The stranger stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Professor Dumbledore shook it.

"Ah, my dear old friend. Thanks for coming."

"Stupid ceiling," Moody spat out, looking up at the enchanted sky. After dropping the headmaster's hand, the awkward and twitchy man stood off to the side, giving the students a look of profound suspicion. Moody popped open a flask and drank some of its contents. The adult then shook his head as if to clear it. It probably  _wasn't_  pumpkin juice.

"Let me introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody," Professor Dumbledore said sunnily into the silence.

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but only Hagrid and the headmaster clapped. The sound echoed dismally into the cavernous Great Hall.

"Looks like the wizards and witches he brought in didn't come willingly…" Harry muttered with a dark expression as the new professor continued scanning the Great Hall, particularly the Slytherin Table as if a Death Eater might leap out at him.

"How do you mean?" Sally-Anne gave him a puzzled look. "I mean,  _of course_  they wouldn't come willingly. It's Azkaban. No witch or wizard alive would go  _willingly._ "

 _Besides Hagrid_ , Harry mentally amended. "I mean that they must have fought him with everything they had. Dark Magic maims and disfigures you for life,  _if_  you survive. You can see he's had his fair share of tough fights," he responded. Instead of looking at Professor Moody, his friends both looked at the scar on Harry's forehead, as if the topic had reminded them of the very Dark magic that had touched Harry as a baby. He took his goblet and had a large swig of juice waiting for them to stop looking.

The smattering of turgid applause finally died. Professor Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Their headmaster cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he said smiling at the sea of students before him, most of whom were gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for half a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" One of the Weasley twins exclaimed loudly.

The tension that had filled the Great Hall ever since Moody arrived suddenly broke, and nearly everyone laughed.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively, "I am  _not_ , Mr. Weasley. Though, now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all entered a bar…"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat very loudly.

"Er… Where was I? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who  _do_ will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

Harry thought this 'event' sounded entirely too dangerous for him,  _especially_  since Voldemort seemed to want him involved somehow. Since he had learned as much as he wanted from Draco about it—one of most interest was the use of a powerful magical artifact bewitched by Rowena Raveclaw herself to draw the names of the three contenders—Harry completely tuned out the headmaster's inordinately long description. He looked around noticing that everyone seemed rather focused on Professor Dumbledore's words. Harry glanced at the Bloody Baron who did not look very amused or excited to hear about the Triwizard Tournament.

"Bloody Baron, is something wrong?" Harry whispered.

The solemn ghost floated closer to him. "Someone always dies during the Triwizard Tournament, no matter the precautions set in place. It's foolish to think that this time will be any different."

Harry made a sympathetic noise as he heard the headmaster drone on and on about this special event which apparently would win a special contender a thousand Galleons and eternal glory and such things that Harry didn't care about at all. "Oh?"

"Nearly four centuries ago, an eleven year old Slytherin perished in quite a grisly manner when her name came out of the Goblet of Fire… Ever since, no Slytherin has attempted the challenge in respectful memory of her." The ghost's slow voice was clearly unhappy to be remembering that very moment, which was why Harry didn't ask him for details about the girl.

"And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning." Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Bedtime! Chop, chop!"

Adding to a great scraping and banging, Harry and his fellow Slytherins—excluding a couple prefects and the first years—got to their feet and swarmed towards the double doors of the Great Hall with the rest of the students. Around him, sixth- and seventh-year Slytherins were discussing the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. They were asking one another if they were going to enter into it as they entered the Entrance Hall. The general consensus was that it was an insane idea to do so due to the illustrious history of a third of the participants dying in their attempt. Harry waved at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin in the Entrance Hall and headed down the stairs to the dungeons.

Someone ahead of Harry told the Thin Lady the password, and she swung open for the rest of them to gain entrance. Straight ahead was a fire cheerily burning; Harry went down the steps into the warm common room where the rest of the Slytherins stood. Harry had missed this last year since he'd been forced to sleep in the infirmary after the first dementor attack. He lined up behind the third years as they waited for Professor Snape to appear. Appearing back to their normally enchanted selves, Pansy, Tracey, and Daphne, followed by Bulstrode, hurried down the steps from the portrait-hole to join the three fourth-years already lined up behind the third years. Pike Lestrange waved once with a shy grin to Harry, who smiled and nodded. Then the Slytherin Head of House appeared, the remaining trio of fourth years trailing behind him.

A scowling Draco chose to stand on the opposite side of their line as far from the girls as possible. Goyle stood next to Harry, sending a grimace to him. Harry wondered how they'd be punished.

Then there came the usual welcome-to-the-viper's-nest and responsibility-as-role-models spiel. Harry was glad that he'd missed last year's lecture. At least the Sorting Hat and Professor Dumbledore knew how easily bored people were by bloody monotony. "And Potter, do us all the favor and do not attempt to defeat the precautions put in place for the Triwizard Tournament."

He snorted. "Why would I? It sounds like a death trap, sir."

The Slytherins around Harry sniggered quietly. He shot them a perplexed look.

"That being said," their Head of House said nastily, "If I find out that any of you has placed Potter's name into the running, your life will be as unpleasant and unbearable as possible for your remaining time at Hogwarts. Furthermore," and here Snape looked at the fifth years and older, "I will use such an action as grounds for  _immediate_  expulsion."

Not one of them laughed. Harry begrudgingly respected the wizard for attempting to make this year at Hogwarts a bit safer. Not that it ever worked before, but he had to give the adult credit for persistence.

"Now, as for these purported Lionsnakes, I have seen neither scale nor fang. However, bear in mind the headmaster's warnings. I have not yet collected enough Lionsnake components to prepare an antidote for neither its venom nor paralysis agents.  _Do not bait them_."

Professor Snape's fingers flicked to the wall to their right. "Furthermore, the most ancient wizard and great Founder of our House has requested that his painting be placed here within the common room. On your own time you may converse with Salazar Slytherin; however, do not pester him needlessly or  _I_  shall know. I have barrels of potions components to prepare this year and I'd be delighted to assign one to each of you..." Snape smiled unpleasantly down his nose, his beady black eyes looking directly at each of them.

The stately portrait of a very tall and wide bookcase also held within it the bald-headed Founder Harry had only just addressed in the Entrance Hall. Salazar Slytherin bowed slightly in greeting to them, and every one of Harry's housemates bowed deeply. Excited chattering sprang up around them.

"Silence," Snape snapped. "Your youngest siblings will arrive any moment."

Professor Snape worked with predictable efficiency; Once the timid first years were marched in, he repeated to the first years what he'd told Harry and his year-mates their first year, subtracting the bit about the Quidditch Cup and adding a bit about  _not_ emulating the Boy-Who-Lived. Ignoring the pointed look from their Head of House, Dennis was squirming in place with excitement as he kept looking hopefully at Harry. As soon as Snape dumped the work of explaining the House rules to the prefects, Harry and the other Slytherins rushed to the dormitory stairwells. Crabbe and Goyle pushed the others away to make room for Draco, who looked unaffected by his short time Transfigured as a bird.

On the fourth landing, Harry entered through the black door with the snake-shaped door knocker. Someone had already charmed the lanterns to hold a cheery, orange flame before Harry could get to them. Five four-poster beds with deep emerald hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Crabbe and Goyle were already under their bed covers. For once, Draco wasn't very chatty for their first night back.

Harry changed into the Slytherin night robes he'd gotten for his birthday and crawled into bed. Theodore cast a quick ' _Nox'_  and the lights went out. Someone had placed warming pans between the mattresses. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the thunder rumbling from beyond the window beside his bed.

"I think I might've put my name in, if we were allowed," Theodore told the darkness.

"You're allowed to think that because you're insane," Draco said.

"Insanely good at dealing with Dark Creatures, you mean," Theodore said with an amused tone.

"Would you all shush?" Harry was in no mood for their banter. "I want to get some rest before classes tomorrow."

The room instantly silenced. Harry rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. He had no desire whatsoever to put his name in the running for the Triwizard Tourney. Even so, even with all the precautions that the Ministry, the headmaster, and Snape had put into place, Harry's gut feeling knew that somehow he'd get ensnared into Voldemort's plot. Someone would betray him and offer his name as a contender…

He fell asleep and dreamed of the Goblet of Fire choosing him as a Hogwarts Champion…

He was standing on the grounds in front of Hogwarts castle, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming because he'd just won the Tournament. Ginny's face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration…

Except a bald, crimson-eyed, noseless Voldemort in black silken robes was standing beside her, clapping slowly, his lips drawn into a feral grin, staring down at her as if he might memorize her features…

Harry shouted a warning, but his voice was lost in the cheering crowd. Jumping off the stage, Harry tried to push through the crowd; his wand was comforting in his tight palm. Harry shouted again, feeling dizzy in the press of the screaming crowd.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " There was a green light and the crowd parted only for Ginny to fall forward, eyes open and unseeing, just as dead as Harry's mother—

Waking suddenly, Harry saw that his roommates were breathing deeply in their sleep. As the fog of sleep pulled away, Harry realized he was sitting upright in his bed.

Suffice it to say, even after he laid back onto his pillow he did not manage to fall asleep again. The flickering lightning punctuated the darkness, creating sinister shadows along the walls. Harry knew he would have to stay far away from Ginevra Weasley that year on the slim chance that his nightmare was actually a dream of prophecy.


	5. RXB, KXN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is comprised of the abbreviations for "Rook Takes Bishop, King Takes Knight".

By the following morning, the storm had blown itself out. In the Great Hall, the ceiling was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter grey swirled overhead as a groggy Harry and the other Slytherins examined their new course schedules at breakfast. The noisiest table that morning was the Gryffindors'; the few snippets Harry had caught were about defeating the precautions set in place for those witches and wizards who were underage and wished to participate.

"Arithmancy this morning," Sally-Anne said on Harry's left. Unsurprisingly, Pansy and her three closest friends were not sitting anywhere close to them.

"Then  _we_  have Care of Magical Creatures," Draco said haughtily across from him. "It'll be just the four of us, since the others went into  _Muggle Studies_." Harry suppressed the urge to grimace at him.

"Good tutors for Care of Magical Creatures are easy to come by compared to finding one that understands Muggles," Sally-Anne said dismissively.

Draco's pointed face scrunched into disgust. Harry's twitchy fingers rested near his wand. "Father said Burbage is the worst sort of trash because she actively promotes us mating with  _Muggles_."

"I think it's fine to have kids with people who were born without magic," Harry said with sharpness he was trying to mute, tearing into a piece of toast held by his left hand. Sour-faced, Draco scowled at Harry's effort to head-off a nasty argument.

"Did you know that wolves have been known to mate with wild dogs, Draco?" Theodore grinned, while the prat spluttered; Crabbe's mouth was a thin line and Goyle blinked with surprise. Harry barely managed to hide a smirk. There was a sudden rustling noise above them. A hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning post. Instinctively, Harry looked up, but there was no sign of white among the mass of brown and grey. Hedwig would not be joining him then, Harry thought a little saddened. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. An eagle owl had landed on Draco's shoulder after delivering the first box of sweets and cakes to him that year, while another owl dropped a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  in his lap.

Harry had just eaten the last scoop of his porridge, when a distant bell signaled the end of breakfast. The Slytherins parted ways; he was most grateful that the first years were being corralled by the prefects. Dennis had so far sent him cheery looks, but didn't approach. Harry and Sally-Anne headed to the Arithmancy classroom with Hermione, a large handful of Hufflepuffs, and the full contingent of fourth-year Ravenclaws.

"Decided you didn't like Divination, Boot?"

Terry Boot snorted derisively. "Oh, please, Potter. I only wanted a taste of the madness known as the Prophetic Arts. Curiosity sated, I've moved on. I already know the basic Arithmantic fundamentals. My mother's an Arithmancer. No harm in _not_  boring myself to sleep."

It couldn't hurt that Goldstein and Corner were already in Arithmancy, Harry thought. They were a trio of friends from Ravenclaw, largely inseparable, like Draco with Crabbe and Goyle.

The fourth years entered the room through the glass door, filed to their seats, and waited. Usually Professor Vector was a few minutes late. None of them minded since she would always stay later to go over what she taught in class to those struggling with the concepts. Harry had needed some help with trigonometric functions last year, but nothing more yet.

Wearing an emerald shawl, the young professor stepped in without smiling. The Arithmancy Instructor immediately pointed at the chalkboard. "As most of you know, I'm Professor Vector. If you did not intend to be in Arithmancy, Professor Trelawney's class is at the top classroom of North Tower. Now, hold up the homework you were to finish over the summer break."

Harry lifted his rolled parchment and so did nearly everyone else. A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were looking rather fretful. With a twitch of her wand, Professor Vector summoned the homework to a bag that she had for just such an occasion.

"At this time, you will take a pretest. I expect you to complete it within an hour. Afterwards, you will form the groups you were in last year. Those working on Trigonometry will now work on Calculus fundamentals, while those in Algebra will move to Trigonometry. Everyone else moves to Geometry and Algebra, regardless of whether or not you excel at basic Arithmetic. I will send a piece of parchment with today's work to be completed once you've finished your pretests. Any questions?" Her brown eyes looked around the classroom, but nobody raised their hands. With a flick of her wand, the pretests were delivered to each of the awaiting students, and they began to fill them out.

There were only a few problems of multiplication, addition, subtraction, and division, and one graph to decipher. The rest was mostly Algebraic equations and Geometric fundamentals. At the very end were the Trigonometric functions that Harry had struggled with the previous year. Over the summer he'd forgotten how to solve for the angles and sides of a triangle lacking a right angle, even though he knew he'd done it as part of the homework set over the summer. In his defense, it was a rather long equation that he had to memorize. Moments later, Hermione's rolled pretest floated from her desk and a parchment sheet floated back to her.

After placing what he remembered of the equation by the problem, Harry put a question mark next to it as Professor Vector preferred instead of making something up. He then filled out the rest of the sheet and rolled it up, holding it above him. The rolled parchment gently pulled from his fingers and a new sheet lazily floated onto his desk. On it were instructions on how to solve an equation using trigonometric functions. Harry had wondered what had been the point of understanding random trigonometric ratios, but now he realized that it was necessary to swap out a trigonometric function with its equivalent ratios to solve more difficult problems. His mind buzzed with excitement seeing that there were new puzzles to unlock.

"Time's up," came the crisp voice of the professor. She flicked her wand and the rolled pretests floated into another sack, separate from the rolls of homework. With a sharp swipe of her wand, the stacks of parchment fluttered apart, going directly to each student without one. "Group up, now. You only have fifty-five minutes to complete your classwork."

Harry, Hermione, Sally-Anne grouped up… and were surprised when Terry Boot sat down beside them with his quill and parchment. Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein were in the very large Trigonometry group.

"Am I welcome to join you?" Boot looked a bit uncomfortable, and it was no surprise to Harry. The Ravenclaw seemed extraordinarily shy around girls.

"Certainly," Hermione said.

So, they put their heads together and began to fill out the parchment, not precisely copying one another. Boot's knowledge was far beyond Harry's newly renamed Calculus group; the others opted to ask him questions they normally reserved for Professor Vector.

"…Exactly how close are you to performing nonverbal magic?" Sally-Anne finally asked, once they'd finished their classwork and turned it in with a half hour left to spare.

Boot smiled and flicked his wand at her inkpot. It skidded an inch across the surface of the desk, causing Harry to startle. "That's all I can do. Sad, isn't it?"

So, the term for wordless magic was  _nonverbal_ , was it? Harry stared at the inkpot with extreme curiosity.

"It takes a lot of practice," Hermione said sagely. "I've read several accounts of nonverbal magic. Most wizards and witches can't perform even that much by the time they're seventeen!"

That garnered a larger smile from Boot. He tilted his head back eyes casting towards the ceiling, but he didn't say a word.

"You need to tell us your secret," Sally-Anne said.

"Once you've reached Diff-EQ, you'll be ready," he said without sounding pompous.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Differential Equations," Hermione answered promptly.

"And that's…?"

"Calculus with Matrices…" Boot explained before Hermione did it for him, "That is—and this is a gross oversimplification—applying a Calculus function to two-dimensional data."

"That sounds intriguing. What's beyond that?"

"Integral Calculus. It's taking the anti-derivative of an equation, which can have an infinite set of solutions if you don't limit it properly. I'm absolute bollocks at it. I keep placing a negative sign in the wrong place which throws the whole lot off," Boot said with a slight whinge.

"But once you master it, you'll be able to perform almost any spell nonverbally," Hermione insisted ardently.

"Wait… so," Harry began, "To perform spells wordlessly—er, nonverbally, you  _need_  to be able to calculate trajectories in your mind?"

"It's one way to do it, yes. Most reliable one in my opinion," Boot said, nodding to himself. "That's in addition to wand movement and focusing on the spell you want to use."

"How does that work if there's no movement involved?"

"What spell doesn't require an action of the target?" Boot responded circuitously.

"But what if you're changing the quality of something?"

"That requires a deep understanding of Chaos Theory. Anything relating to transformation spells, such as a curse that grows one's front teeth out requires the bare minimum understanding that the simplest things can easily beget chaos. Take the equation, y equals x squared. You wouldn't think a little thing like that is inherently chaotic, but it is despite its deceptively ordered answers. It may start at one point, but it steadily divides from that point providing a two-dimensional reflection of itself graphically. What's interesting is that you input a number and its anti-thesis—that is, its negative—and they provide the very same answer even while the input remains in opposite quadrants. This explains why sometimes we can use different methods and reach the very same conclusion."

"So, Chaos Theory can help with Transfigurations?" Harry prompted when the teenager finished, since he hadn't really followed what the Ravenclaw had speedily said about halfway through.

Boot's eyes flicked to the two others sitting beside them; it was the last remnant of his unease at the two teens who were appearing to absorb every word. "It could or it could have the opposite effect and ruin any hope you have of ever Transfiguring anything ever again. I suppose it depends on the person."

Harry blinked. He thought he'd rather take the risk if it meant he could finally excel at Transfigurations. It wasn't like he particularly enjoyed struggling with it.

Professor Vector clapped her hands three times sharply to get their attention. "There is no homework assigned, unless you have not yet finished your classwork or turned in your homework set from the summer. Class is dismissed!"

After giving them a brief farewell, Terry Boot rejoined his two Ravenclaw friends, while Hermione, Harry, and Sally-Anne went down the corridor towards the main stairwell that would descend to the Entrance Hall. Crowds of students swarmed around them.

"Miserable old bat!" Ron shouted bitterly. "That'll take all weekend…"

Hermione perked up and shot over her shoulder at her two companions, "See you later!" She squeezed past several students to meet up with Ron and Neville. Harry heard her brightly ask the Gryffindors if they had lots of homework and then she bragged that Professor Vector hadn't assigned any at all.

Harry wondered if Draco's baiting was influencing Hermione's habits… and was surprised when Ron gave a moody answer without yelling at her. Deciding it was none of his business, he followed Sally-Anne to the Entrance Hall which was packed with people queuing into the Great Hall for lunch. A loud voice called out, "Harry!" Recognizing the voice, he reluctantly turned to face Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. They each looked thoroughly pleased about something. A little more removed from them, Theodore looked distant as if he were ruminating on something particularly important.

"What?" He asked warily. Sally-Anne had remained beside him, also cautiously curious.

"That Weasley's father is in the paper," Draco sneered more quietly as he brandished his open copy of the  _Daily Prophet_. 'Further Mistakes at the Ministry of Magic!', the headline from the inner folds seemed to boom in very bold lettering.

Harry was even more surprised that Draco wasn't shoving the article in Ron's face. "…And you're playing nice."

"Yes, yes I am. I'm happy you've  _finally_  noticed," Draco preened.

He took the morning edition of the paper and began to read the article by Rita Skeeter, the very same who had published a tell-all book about Harry's mistreatment from the Dursleys without his permission. He tilted the paper so Sally-Anne could read it as well. So, the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup hadn't been forgotten, had they? Harry thought as his eyes followed the tumble of words. He abruptly stopped at 'Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office'. "I'm going to have to write them to complain. She's gotten his father's name wrong," Harry groused. The Entrance Hall had cleared quite a bit while they stood there, so Harry led their group over to the Slytherin table.

"Imagine that, it's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" Draco said looking quite happy that the  _Daily Prophet_ was spreading misinformation.

"I worry whether she even managed to get my backstory correct if this Skeeter can't even get a person's name right," Harry said irritably as he continued reading about the aggressive dustbins Theodore had mentioned last night. Mr. Weasley had apparently rushed to the aid of Professor Moody—who had retired from the Ministry when he was no longer able to differentiate between a handshake and attempted murder—only to discover that the aged Auror had raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley had had to modify several memories of Muggle 'law-keepers', which Skeeter correctly called policemen. Ron's father had then refused to answer  _Daily Prophet_  questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.

"There's even a picture of Weasley's parents in front of their shabby hovel on the other side," Draco pointed out. They sat down at the Slytherin table which had quite a spread of dishes, even a rack of barbecue ribs. Harry would have preferred that Draco not sit next to him.

"Are you done?" Harry asked Sally-Anne, and she nodded. He flipped the paper over and saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smiling cherubically in front of a massive, crooked-looking house. A large oak tree seemed to have sprouted in the very center of the house. "I think it looks rather cozy."

"It's disgraceful for purebloods, even if they are blood traitors, to have to subsist in such a run-down place. I'd be spitting mad too if it were me," Draco said with pity in his tone, his eyes glancing towards the Gryffindor table.

"They look happy to me," Harry said through his teeth, and Draco frowned.

"And his mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she? That can't be healthy."

"Oh, come off it," the heated words burst out of Harry. "I think your mother could stand to gain a little weight. She's practically emaciated."

"My mother is naturally thin!" Draco hissed at him, outraged. His cheeks looked as if they'd been patted with rouge.

"And Mrs. Weasley has the normal curves of a woman who's had seven children," Sally-Anne pointed out quite calmly, "Giving birth is incredibly taxing on the body. Only strict dieting and a daily imbibing of Weight-loss and Beautification Potions can return them back to how they were before."

Snorting, the prat stared down at the paper with a strange glimmer in his eyes. "I suppose the Weasleys can't afford to do that."

"I don't think someone ought to change how they look if they're happy with themselves," Harry said abruptly, glancing towards Tracey who was farther down the table laughing with Pansy at something Daphne had said. Her run-in with Draco seemed forgotten for the moment, but the same couldn't be said of Harry.

"Wouldn't you like to get rid of that scar on your forehead if given half the chance?" Theodore, who'd been so quiet earlier, was seated on the other side of Sally-Anne.

"I've never given it any thought," Harry admitted easily.

"Oh," Sally-Anne lamented, "What I wouldn't give to have been born a boy."

Finding that unexpected, Harry tilted his head directing a very curious look at her. "Why?"

"You wouldn't believe the pressure I've faced from the other girls to take Leg-Lengthening and Beautification Potions. They say I'm too plain and short for anyone to find me attractive."

"You  _are_ rather plain and short," Draco agreed casually, appraising her like someone would do with a horse. "You should also get your eyes fixed so you look less like a squinty mole."

Her pale face twitching, Sally-Anne sat very still as her eyes grew unfriendly. Harry's mind raced to figure out what to say to defuse the sudden tension.

"Don't listen to him, Sal," Theodore said, grasping her shoulder, and the stiffness in her relaxed. Her head turned slightly towards him and her cheeks pinked a little with a smile curled on her lips.

That was before Draco said, "You do want to marry well, don't you? You'll have to attract attention some way with your parents being shut-in squibs and your pride refusing to take on the rightful name of your bloodline."

With ferocious speed, Sally-Anne slammed her hands onto the table. Harry leaned back a little wishing he was not sitting between the two. "For your insult, Draco Malfoy, I challenge you to a duel!"

"What,  _you_ challenge  _me?"_ Draco's voice was quite distant, growing ever more confused, _"_ I didn't say anything offensive. I was pointing out the established facts. Your parents don't have any connections with the old families or accumulated wealth to provide an enticing dowry, and it's common knowledge that you've spurned the goodwill of the Selwyns and Rowles. That leaves only your particular qualities…" Draco eyed Theodore for a moment and then said, "One of which I suspect you've already squandered on a dalliance. _"_

With a snarl, Sally-Anne hopped up from the bench, her shoulder-length hair flinging behind her from the movement. Hand lightly placed over his wand, Harry turned in his seat in case he needed to use a Freezing Charm on her. There was a look of pure murder running across her face. Only Theodore's hand on her arm kept the young witch from drawing the wand from her robes. "Easy, Sal." The temper was still there, hot and barely restrained. Sally-Anne's lips were curled with an ugly expression of hatred, her eyes boring at the apparent idiot behind Harry, who had already been turned into a bird once. Harry swallowed, thinking that sudden movement was ill-advised.

Words continued pouring out of the prat, "You don't actually expect that being smart and graduating from Hogwarts will win you a good hus—"

" _Enough, Draco_ —" Harry growled at him after seeing the way that Sally-Anne's clenched face had flushed, the angry gaze blistering with frigidity.

"—band," the last syllable stilted out as if it had nearly been chewed in half. Harry could tell that Draco was staring quite fixedly at the back of his head.

"Quite frankly, I don't want any wizard who expects a stupid and subservient witch to cater to his every whim," she spat out.

Draco laughed, and Sally-Anne's face became quite pinched. "I thought it would be obvious that you're as far away from my type as realistically possible," Draco answered.

A curious prefect was walking their way, and the sight of the fifth year had Harry more relieved than he cared to admit. "Incoming," Theodore said lowly near Sally-Anne's ear.

"Accept my challenge or you'll find how vicious an enemy I make," she said with a harsh voice. To which Draco snorted. With an incredulous look, Harry glanced behind him.

Draco maintained unconcerned eye contact with her. "These are the  _facts_ of your situation, Perks, and the sooner you wise up to reality, the better off you'll be." When the cold glare from Harry finally registered, Draco shot him a startled look. "I'm  _serious_. No one of her standing ought to have to work for a living. It's bad enough that she refuses to cast off that despicable  _Muggle_ name."

"She shoulden't—"

"Don't pretend you're being charitable with your words,  _Malfoy_ ," she snarled out. Harry's eyes flicked back to Sally-Anne, whose expression had gone from furious to desolate. "Even if I explained how wrong you are, you wouldn't  _listen_. You're so arrogant to believe there's only one way to live," she said through clenched teeth.

"It's the  _proper_ way," Draco said with an irritated tone.

There was a shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. Harry felt that he ought to comfort her, but then she knocked Theodore's hand off her shoulder.

"Sal!" Theodore cried out to her. She spun on her heel to storm through the double doors at a brisk pace, ignoring the curious, cool gazes from Ravenclaw and their own table.

The stocky prefect, Felix Brunt, passed by them with only a cursory glance. There wasn't a tense stand-off to defuse any longer.

A hand came down on Harry's shoulder when he moved to stand to follow his friend. "I've got it. Explain to this ignorant  _prick_  what he's done." Without a look back, Theodore quickly followed their housemate out of the Great Hall.

Harry was left feeling vaguely uncertain about how he would go about doing that. It seemed like an impossible order considering the bloody prat acted as if he had arrived from the eighteenth century and its attendant prejudices. Longer, Harry amended, if one went by the time the Statute of Secrecy had gone into effect. After all, Draco had believed last year that Muggles nearby were ready and willing to burn magical folk at the stake. Harry took in a breath. The black pit of rage in his stomach wasn't helping him think, either.

"Wouldn't you want to be a bit of jam if you were a girl? Then everyone would like you without any effort on your part," Draco said to himself. Harry looked at him for a moment, Crabbe and Goyle forgotten accessories. The other teen looked more perplexed than anything.

"I think you've completely missed her point," Harry said. He tried not to grit his teeth. He was leveled with a narrowed look.

"Does she  _want_  to be put on the shelf until she dwindles into obscurity?"

"If she wants that, so what? It's not any of your business."

Draco's mouth flapped open for a half-second too long and then he huffed, gesturing at the Great Hall, buzzing with voices. "Don't tell me that you would want to marry a girl that was smarter than you…? Their heads get filled with all the wrong things needed to raise children."

For being as experienced with girls as he claimed, Draco certainly didn't understand them. Harry took a deep breath, quelling the murderous urge to hex him and be done with it. The last time Harry had tried to reason with the unreasonable he'd been locked in a cupboard for nearly a week over holiday; that was well over five years ago, and while no one would dare to do that to him now he wasn't willing to try. Sharp, grey eyes didn't miss how Harry's hand clenched by his wand. "Do you want to resemble a pointy-faced rat?"

Draco's eyes fluttered in surprise. "Are you threatening to Transfigure my face? I didn't know she meant that much to you."

Harry sighed, balling his right fist to tap it against his knee. "Why bother when your face already resembles a rat's?"

" _What_?" Draco cried, touching all over his face in horror before he realized how stupid he looked doing it. "I  _do not_  look like a rat!" Harry saw Crabbe and Goyle exchange a look behind Draco's head as if silently agreeing with Harry's assessment.

"Would  _you_  take potions that are meant to correct that?"

"No, why would I  _need to_  when my family's wealthy? Girls already throw themselves at me and I'm not even of age," Draco said arrogantly.

"I think that the only ones who would want you aren't the sort you really want."

"Hah! I can get under any skirt I want!" Draco boasted and then sneered, "But what would  _you_  know about  _girls_? You haven't even  _kissed_  one, let alone slept with one."

Harry would have given anything not to know that. "I know that adults who are overly concerned about how they look only want to cover up the ugliness they already have. Or did you forget about Lockhart?"

Lips puckered into one of abject disgust at the mention of that self-absorbed wizard. So, no, Draco hadn't forgotten.

"Do you really want to marry someone like  _him_ , a self-absorbed fraud and cheat? Someone who only loves you for your money and wouldn't bat an eye at betraying you?"

Draco's expression grew dark with malice at the mention of betrayal. "I see your point about marriage-worthy material," he said in a decidedly unhappy manner. "But you and I obviously disagree about the purpose of it. Marriage is simply an exchange of properties and a way to keep your bloodline strong." His face slackened as if suddenly bored, the sharp edge of his tone blunted with amusement. "It has nothing at all to do with…  _love_. After I've married, I can take on as many lovers as I'd like. The same goes to the future bearer of my children."

It wasn't that surprising when Harry already knew that Draco could only see a chessboard with pawns spread out upon it. "Fine. Just don't expect everyone to believe the same way you do," Harry said flatly.

"Naturally."

"Good. Then I expect you'll apologize to Sally-Anne for riling her up when you go to accept her challenge."

There was a long moment where Draco seemed to be thinking. The noise of the Great Hall came back into focus around Harry, and then his roommate said, "I don't duel  _girls_ , Potter. They're much too delicate to handle the spellwork involved. Well, excepting in cases where they've succumbed to madness." The prat looked as though he found that thought both terrifying and amusing.

Harry's jaw dropped before he was able to catch himself, and then he scratched his ear. He shouldn't have been surprised to hear that from Draco considering how he'd treated Tracey and the others, but surely he was joking? Surely he wasn't that  _senseless_? "Then, how do you explain Hermione's top ranking at Hogwarts? She's beaten you in every class three years running!"

There was a casual flick of a hand and a slight shrug. "Everyone knows the teachers go easy on the girls. That's why that Muggle-born has been able to receive better grades than me."

The teachers didn't go easy on anyone, but instead of attacking that fallacy Harry bulled forward. "And how many fourth years are capable of turning you into a bird, Draco?"

The teen scowled. "It was  _obviously_  a fluke. Pansy was lucky she didn't maim me."

That absolutely settled it; Draco was delusional. He hadn't seen that it actually had been Sally-Anne who had done the deed. He couldn't know just how talented she was or how long she must have practiced to attain that feat of complex magic. Shaking his head, Harry muttered, "I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Suppose that I were to duel Perks: she'd be too busy thinking of what she was going to cast next by the time I Disarmed her," Draco said with an air of reassured superiority. "Same with that Granger, except that she'd have her nose in a bloody book referencing offensive spells. And, well, it would  _hardly_  be  _sporting_  for me to accept a challenge from a  _girl_."

Harry's laughter was abrupt and cutting. "I can't wait to see the look on your face when Hermione snaps and clobbers you with obscure and advanced curses."

" _Please_ , that Muggle-born doesn't have the stomach to attack  _me_  with Dark magic, even with provocation."

Merlin, Harry already wished the conversation was over. Picking at his food, he felt his patience growing too frayed; the longer the other teen sat there chattering his nonsense the stronger Harry felt the urge to follow through half a dozen different ways to silence him, and many of which could be considered Dark.

Unable to let Draco carry on all by himself any longer, Harry interrupted the start of a rant on the exceedingly delicate structure of the MVS in witches to say, "Look, I don't give a bloody shite what you think. Shut up and eat. We have Care of Magical Creatures next and if you faint from low blood sugar, I've half a mind to feed you to the Acromantula in the forest."

There was a flurry of owlish blinks. "…Could have worded that with one less threat," the prat muttered sullenly at his plate. Finding that reaction unexpected, Harry let out a harsh laugh at him and received a baleful look for it. Nevertheless, the blond dutifully scooped pot roast onto his fork and set to work polishing off the remains of his lunch, while Crabbe and Goyle exchanged loaded looks over his head.

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry left the Great Hall followed by a strangely silent Draco and his hulking hangers-on. The silence was punctuated by the occasional compulsive, biting comment as they went through the corridors of Hogwarts, but to Harry it was a large improvement. Then they were outside on the breezy hills behind Hogwarts where the birds were chirping. Hagrid's small cabin was in sight, where other students were already milling about.

Hagrid was standing before the small gathering of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As the four Slytherins drew nearer with the rest of their class, an odd rattling noise reached their ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

Harry looked inside one of the crates and saw that there were a hundred creatures in it that were deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking. They had legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. They were each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They stunk to high heaven of rotting fish. Harry's stomach roiled in protest. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of one of them with a small  _phut_ , and it would be propelled forward several inches.

"Af'ernoon, 'Arry!" Hagrid said, grinning at him. "Only jus' hatched, so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit o' a project o' it!"

"And why would we  _want_  to raise them?" Draco asked coldly. Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering behind them.

The half-giant looked stumped at the question.

"Lay off," Harry snapped, "It's the first day of the term."

Draco eyed the revolting creatures. "I mean, what do they  _do_? What is the  _point_ of them?"

Their professor opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was another few seconds' pause and then their teacher said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things—I've never had 'em before, so not sure what they'll go fer—I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake—just try 'em out with a bit of each. I call 'em Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

Draco made a face and turned to Harry. "I bet these are an  _illegal_  breed.  _I've_  never heard of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Have you, Crabbe?"

The zit-faced teen shook his head with a sharp jaunt of his square jaw.

Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the creatures. He couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless when he discovered that the Skrewts lacked something resembling mouths. Neither Draco or Goyle reached into the boxes, but Crabbe tried to feed the Skrewts ant eggs. Harry gave him a smile, which was returned with something that resembled cheer from his normally gloomy roommate.

" _Ouch!_ " A Gryffindor cried out; Harry looked up from his box and saw it was Dean Thomas that Hagrid was hurrying over to. "It got me! Its end exploded!" Dean showed Hagrid the burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," Hagrid said with a nod.

"EURGH!" A Gryffindor, Lavender Brown, yelled out. "Eurgh! Hagrid what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," Hagrid said enthusiastically. "I reckon they're th' males since th' other's've—prolly th' females—got sorta sucker things on their bellies… Might suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," Draco said with loud and rich sarcasm, "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

Harry surprised himself when laughter rolled out of him, Crabbe and Goyle joining in before he could stop—though he probably thought it was funny for a different reason. Namely because the more dangerous a creature was the more likely Hagrid was to want to raise them.

"Just because they're not very pretty doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione retorted from across the boxes. Feeling a bit guilty, Harry looked up to see her and a redheaded Gryffindor glaring at him. Neville was looking quite uncomfortable. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I can think of  _someone_ ," Harry said openly grinning again after a look towards their professor, and now so was Ron and Neville. Even Hagrid seemed to be smiling furtively behind his beard.

"You're probably right," Draco drawled at the confused faces of the students around them who missed that Hagrid had owned one for a brief period during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. "Our professor would probably  _love_  to raise a dragon."

A Hufflepuff by the name of Susan Bones snorted out a giggle and then covered her face in embarrassment when everyone looked her way. Her friend, who had gone through a radical change in appearance over the summer like many of the witches in Harry's year, laughed openly and soon the entire class had followed Hannah Abbott's lead, bowled over in unexpected laughter. Draco preened from all the attention.

When Harry looked over to the Gryffindor trio, Ron had a sour look on his face. He was likely remembering the time that he'd spent in the infirmary from an infected dragon bite and how Draco had threatened and bullied him.

"Alrigh', alrigh'," Hagrid bellowed, clapping his meaty hands together. "Get back ter tryin'! Somethin' ough' ter take!"

Ignoring the Gryffindor's glare, Harry picked up a chunk of stringy meat and danced it over the Skrewts' heads, who seemed no likelier to eat that than anything else Harry and Crabbe had tried. All throughout Draco and Goyle hovered over the duo's shoulders in the fruitless attempt to feed the disgusting things.

An hour later, a bell was tolling in the distance.

"Righ'. No homework! I'll see yeh all next Monday!" The half-giant hollered behind them.

"I don't think he was very prepared," Draco complained as they made their way back up to the castle for dinner. "I hope these creatures don't get very large. They'll be revolting."

Harry frowned unable to disagree. "Could their components be useful?"

"Judging by what they do… nothing for consumption or general use. I expect they'd make highly concentrated, explosive substances."

"Explosives?" Crabbe asked with high glee in his cracking voice.

Draco sneered, "My godfather would probably never cover them because of the radically destructive acts of such a potion…"

"I say, better to stamp out the lot of these things before they start attackin' us," Goyle grumbled.

They sat down at the Slytherin table and helped themselves to lamb chops and potatoes. With anger mostly subsided, Harry found that he was very famished after working with the Skrewts and piled the food high on his plate, while Draco talked about the latest gossip he'd gleaned during his Divinations class. How  _certain_ families were attempting and, largely, failing to pair off their only heirs in arranged marriages, how Professor Trelawney had predicted someone's death—apparently this was a habit of hers—, how there was a rumor that someone had been infected by Lycanthropy last year—

Mere moments after Harry wondered if that rumor was bad news for Theodore, a tall and curvy Hufflepuff with blond hair asked rather softly in the loud wash of noise around them, "Potter, have you seen any Lionsnakes around?"

It was the elusive and skittish Marjorie Dunning, who had never once spoken to Harry before. Seeing that her short friend, Gertrude Lewis, hovered behind her, Harry glanced at Dunning's patient expression before turning back to his plate. "Er, no I haven't. They're quite invisible most of the time."

"Yes, of course they are," she said without a hint of annoyance. "Prefect Pennyworth thinks none of them will be spotted for another year because it takes a while for a colony to establish…"

"They've already had a year," Harry said, recalling that it was not yet thirteen months since he'd smuggled them in, "but I don't expect we'll see them for another month." He chewed on a rather nicely seasoned boiled potato while the two witches looked at one another.

Dunning gave him a thoughtful look. " _Oh_ , the headmaster must've brought them in with Black on the loose…"

"Who I doubt'll be back now that the Lionsnakes are around," he informed her absently in between bites of succulent pork.

"You're right," she said cheerfully. "Thanks, Potter!"

He nodded towards her and was startled to realize that Draco had remained silent throughout the entire exchange.

"You know an awful lot about these snakes."

Draco watched him as Harry cut into the last of the pork. Opting to choose his words quite carefully, Harry remained quiet. His eyes trailed farther down the table as he drank from his goblet. Along with Pansy and her trio of friends, Sally-Anne and Theodore were whispering to one another and sharing food from each other's plate. Harry wished he could join them. He set the drink down. "I'm a Parselmouth; it's my business to know about Magical snakes and serpents. Besides, the headmaster seemed very pleased to add them to Hogwarts wards."

"You've all but admitted bringing them in," Draco said with a particularly vicious stab at a hapless roasted potato. His eyes kept flickering towards Harry's closest friends. It was obvious to Harry that Draco wasn't pleased that he hadn't been told this secret.

"I haven't." Harry let his relaxed body language speak for him, showing his confusion at why he would be suspected.

Draco cleared his throat importantly, "I for one am impressed at the gains you've made in deceiving others."

Harry rolled his eyes towards the starlit enchanted ceiling. "So, will you accept Sally-Anne's challenge or not?"

"If you owe me a favor, I will…"

Hah, so he wanted to collect favors again? "Only if you call us even when she defeats you," Harry suggested easily.

"I'll accept that wager only if it doubles my stakes when she inevitably loses," Draco said.

Harry grinned. The smirking prat was going to eat stone when he was cast straight off the dueling stage. "Fine. I'll take those odds."

With rising uncertainty and insecurity, Draco peered at him. "You honestly think she can win against  _me_  when she's never stepped foot on the dueling stage?"

Snorting, the Boy-Who-Lived didn't bother with a counter. He did take a great spoonful of the treacle pudding that had just appeared and ate it with relish. All he had to do was act courteous around bloody Snape, and then he wouldn't have any favors owed to anybody at all.

With ill-concealed worry, Harry's roommate sat back grinding his teeth together. For the second time that day, Harry finished dessert to the murmur of the hundreds of conversations within the hall without someone talking his ear off.

* * *

The next day passed without incident. History of Magic in the morning and then a free period in the afternoon, which Harry napped through, was followed by Astronomy at ten; Draco acted as if he belonged next to Harry, deterring others from approaching their little group with a sharp glance or narrow glare.

By Wednesday morning, Harry was rather glad that he had taken Study of Ancient Runes; in the second highest wing of Hogwarts near the Ravenclaw dorms, the classroom was far from the Potions lab where Draco would be. Professor Babbling was as insane as usual, using Double-sided Runic Pentagons on half the chairs in the classroom. Thankfully, the only status effect of the magic was the chair's occupant being unable to move themselves from the Runic Trap.

Meanwhile, their professor lectured about how one went about countering the Runic Traps without tripping nastier status effects on the hapless students. "Nothing lethal, of course," she said lightly, "But it'll smart if you don't correctly render the Runic Trap unviable. I recommend thorough planning and discussion before you try anything." Professor Babbling smiled brightly. "Get to work! You only have an hour before the Runic Traps cause collateral damage to the victim."

"She's a sadist," Theodore muttered under his breath as he inspected the runes carved into Harry's desk. "I think I'm smitten, Harry."

"I think you've lost your marbles," Harry groused.

He laughed and continued marking the complicated sequences of runes exactly as the pattern showed. Then he dragged his desk closer, allowing Harry to look at it as well.

Harry asked irately, "Why does she give us something more complicated than she lectures about?"

"To challenge us, of course. There's a reason why getting top marks in this class on your N.E.W.T. guarantees a cursebreaking position at Gringotts. Now quickly, we only have fifty minutes left."

They pored over the diagram which Theodore had drawn exactly; Harry's friend scribbled the Double Runic Hexagon that might suitably counteract every active part of the Runic pattern he was meant to defuse. He'd gone through several parchments by now. "Do you think it'll work perfectly?"

Harry inspected the counter-Rune shown to him. It looked acceptable to him. "You've only got twenty minutes to draw it in the correct sequence. I'd say do it before time runs out."

It was rather agonizing for Harry to sit there and let Theodore do all the drawing; Harry inwardly reasoned that he simply  _couldn't_ help while he was trapped within the magic of the Double-sided Runic Pentagon. The  _helplessness_  didn't make him feel any better. He would rather that he hadn't been trapped in the first place.

The magic pinning Harry to the chair significantly lessened the more Theodore worked and then there was a tingle of the magic lifting off of Harry and…

"Done!" Theodore sat up and wiped the sweat off his forehead, smearing charcoal residue across it.

Harry reached down and picked up his bag in relief. Their professor had proactively dismissed them as soon as they'd finished their classwork; the assigned pages of their book to summarize and turn in next class period was written on the blackboard. "You've done it perfectly then."

"Um… your hair looks like a skunk," Theodore said apologetically. He quickly snapped up the paper he'd drawn on and checked the underside of the table. "Shite. I didn't make the legs of the Mimez long enough… Argh!"

"It's just hair, Theo. Don't worry about it, I certainly won't. Let's check on Sally-Anne and Hermione."

They found Hermione frantically penning diagrams several chairs over. "This is impossible!" She said her face exceptionally red.

Harry glanced at the time. She had ten minutes to solve the Double-sided Hexagon that Sally-Anne appeared to be trapped in.

"Here," Theodore said, calmly drawing out an eight-sided figure instead of the seven-sided one Hermione had been grappling with. "The magical property of Seven makes it inherently chaotic. Best to scrap it."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Muttering, she quickly finished the eight-sided runic pattern. Both Harry and Theodore stepped back when Hermione dropped to the floor beside Sally-Anne's desk. Hermione quickly drew an octagon by marking its vertices with the provided compass and then scribbled in the complex sequence of runes around it. A moment after Hermione had completed it, Sally-Anne had jumped from the chair with a cheerful chirrup and then hugged a stunned Hermione tightly. "You did it!"

"Look, Hermione, and her hair doesn't resemble a skunk either," Harry said, making light of his appearance.

The largest smile Harry had ever seen erupted on the Gryffindor's face. "Thanks, Theo," Hermione said to the Slytherin next to Harry.

"My pleasure, Hermione," Theodore said with a courtly bow.

The bell tolled, and Professor Babbling announced that she was available for after-class tutoring. Those successful students who had remained exited the classroom, while those who'd failed to break the runic patterns had incensed partners with an assortment of different wild hairstyles. Some with outlandish bright yellow and black mohawks with curls at the tips or neon blue and brown wavy mullets that touched the floor; others with jagged bangs of silver and outlandish green covering half of their face which hissed whenever the hair was disturbed and a few with a great shock of red with gold highlights puffed out in all directions like a maned clown. After seeing the others Harry thought his skunk-colored hair was a blessing in disguise.

The teen witches began to giggle; Harry glanced at Hermione and Sally-Anne. Their faces were flushed and quite close together as if they might start gossiping at any moment. Except they weren't. Their eyes were quite fixed on each other's.

Harry frowned at them and then asked Theodore, "What's got into them, do you think?"

"Them? No idea, but I'm starved! Let's go get something to eat, shall we?" Theodore clapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and led him from the room.

"What about them?" Harry tried to twist out of his taller roommate's strong grip but was dragged out the room.

"Oh, they'll be down shortly, I expect."

Deciding not to bother with it, Harry pinched the back of his friend's hand.

"Oi!" Harry was released and he stumbled a bit to compensate. "What's got you in a bad mood?"

"Nothing. I didn't want to be dragged around." Harry looked up and down the corridor, but it was deserted. There were fewer paintings in the hall than last year. "How've you been?"

"Been?" Theodore gave him a very strange look. "We share a room. You know how I've been."

"It's the first time I've caught you alone since the World Cup. The 'crystal orb' is right around the corner, isn't it? And I suppose you've heard the rumors, too."

"Crystal— _Oh_." Theodore rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't worry about me. There's a plan in place. Besides, you've got enough troubles of your own…" When Theodore saw the puzzled look on Harry's face, he said, "Draco. You've got to keep an eye on him."

"It's a little hard not to," Harry groused.

Theodore chuckled. "If he bothers you that much, you ought to cut things off cleanly and let him know you're enemies."

"I need what he knows."

"Harry."

Harry stopped, looking at the hand on his shoulder.

"He's not much use at arm's length… because his greatest asset isn't the information his father feeds him." Theodore's steel blue eyes caught Harry's, and Harry looked away.

"Then what is?"

"That's something you're going to have to figure out on your own, if you ever expect your cunning to mature."

Harry scowled. "…Is this about him wanting to date me?"

With an amused look, Theodore pocketed both of his hands and walked ahead of him. "No comment."

After letting loose an irritated sigh, Harry followed. "I'm going to work it out."

"And I'll tell you when you guess correctly. Do you happen to have a date for the Yule Ball yet?"

"No, and I don't intend to." Harry eyed his friend. "You're not asking me out, are you?"

That garnered a loud snort. "As kissable as your lips appear, I'm only interested in ladies."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies," Harry muttered. Then he raised an eyebrow as an idea came to mind. "Would that happen to include trans-witches?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Theodore said and smoothly turned the topic back on Harry. "So, have you really no interest in anyone at all?"

"I guess girls are nice to look at, but I don't want to snog them," Harry said.

"Hm." Thankfully, that was the end of a conversation that could become entirely too awkward, as Theodore changed the subject to the rumors flying around about the Triwizard Tournament.

In the Great Hall, Theodore went to sit by Sally-Anne when the two wizards had arrived after their scenic walk through the corridors; the fourth-year Slytherin witches had arrived before them.

Draco couldn't stop griping over Harry's hair, which Harry thought was trivial. Draco acted as if it was an affront to any normal person's  _noble_  sensibilities and had begged for a favor from Harry to change it back. Harry stabbed the plate of fish more vigorously, and Draco backed off. Miffed, Harry eyed his chatty friend, who was leaning quite into Sally-Anne's space as he thought over the advice Theodore had given him.

"Are you even listening to me?" Draco snapped. It was no surprise that he didn't like being ignored so obviously.

"I'll let you change my hair back if you owe me a favor."

The prat inhaled hard; for all intents he looked flabbergasted that Harry would think that he would take the bait. "Absolutely not. I won't reward you for attempting to take advantage of me so blatantly."

"Then do it without favors or fuss."

A short black wand was out in a flash, waving over Harry's head before he had a chance to react. Scant seconds later, the wand was reholstered. " _There_ ," he said with relish, eyes drifting again towards the other fourth-year Slytherins. "He ought to be more careful next time if he knows what's good for him."

That sent Harry frowning in confusion. "It was just hair color."

"This time. If it'd been a Disembowelment Curse, you'd been walking around with your guts bulging halfway out of your belly," Draco said, his lip curling.

Harry blinked and then blinked again as an idea of what Theodore had meant flickered to life in his mind. It appeared that his obnoxious roommate had a massive protective streak. "Draco—"

"Potter, sorry to interrupt." Prefect Renshaw stood next to Draco, shifting with extreme agitation. "You have Defense Against the Dark Arts next, right?"

"Yes…" Draco responded, "You could easily look up our schedule to know that?"

The sixth year's lips parted slightly and then he rubbed his forehead. "Right, well, I have a bit of important information for you, concerning Professor Moody."

Draco nodded, flicking his hand for the student two years their senior to continue.

"Last period, the professor demonstrated the Imperius Curse on Kartik when he spoke out of turn. Kartik was made to slither around the floor like a snake, while that ex-Auror laughed."

Harry stared. The law stated that if you even  _attempted_ to cast an Unforgivable you were sent straight to Azkaban!

"But that's  _illegal_ ," Draco hissed out. "When my father hears of this—"

"The school governors have approved Professor Moody's curriculum," the prefect said, "and that includes teaching fourth years and older how to throw off the Imperius Curse. I'm surprised that  _your father_ didn't see fit to warn you about this. At any rate, I already expected Professor Moody to be biased towards our House, but this is way out of line. Professor Snape has been kept abreast of the situation. He's advised us to avoid Mad-Eye Moody's power plays, if possible."

Draco's mouth flapped open and close a few times as he had been rendered speechless. Chewing on his gum Crabbe looked defiant, while Goyle looked worried.

"That sounds like a useful skill to have… throwing off the Imperius curse, I mean," Harry said evenly.

" _If_ you manage it," the prefect said before turning and walking away. Moments later, the bell tolled for next period.

Harry stood up, grabbing his schoolbag. "Are you coming or not?"

The three teens reluctantly followed Harry to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, soon to be joined by the others. Beyond a sharp warning to Crabbe and Goyle about showing their best manners, Draco had been unnaturally quiet the entire trip there. Less than fifteen minutes later, Harry took the front seat and pulled out his copy of  _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection,_  which he was already a third of the way through. Draco was announcing to everyone else about their barmy teacher's ploy to humiliate them all with the Imperius Curse. The teen witches all seemed as equally outraged as Draco by it; for the moment, the feud between them and Draco vanished in light of a common enemy.

At the sound of distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, every single one of them returned to their seats, unusually silent. Professor Moody entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They could see his heavy, metal foot protruding from the cuff of his trousers beneath the hem of his robes.

"You can put those away," he growled, stumping over to his desk with his heavy staff and sitting down. "Read them on your own time. And no, I won't be testing you on anything in the books."

Harry and his classmates dutifully bagged the required books. Harry took a quick glance around and saw that every face had lost their color. Was he the only one not feeling that terrified?

Professor Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled grey hair out of his twisted scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his Magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

When Harry was the last person called, the professor said gruffly, "Alastor Moody, ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He slapped the register down, standing up. "I received a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough ground in tackling Dark creatures—you've covered boggarts, red caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, kappas, and dementors, is that right?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered when none of his classmates spoke up.

The wizard limped heavily across the room. "But you're behind—very behind on dealing with curses," Professor Moody said. "So, I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark Magic—"

"You aren't staying?" Draco interrupted.

Professor Moody's Magical eye spun around until settling on Draco; Draco's face turned waxy in apprehension, but after a moment their professor smiled—the first time Harry had ever seen him do so. The effect was frightening as his heavily scarred face looked even more twisted and contorted. Nevertheless, Harry thought it was good to know that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher did anything as friendly as smile.

Draco did not look relieved. In fact, he looked as if he might be facing another troll, one that would crack his bones open and suck the marrow out while he was still kicking.

"You'll be Lucius Malfoy's son, eh?" Moody said and then he laughed harshly. "Yes, one year, and then I'm back to my quiet retirement. I'm here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story, goodbye, the end. Any other questions?" He looked around sternly at the other Slytherins. Then he clapped his gnarled hands together. "So—straight to it. When it comes to the Dark Arts, I believe in a  _practical_ approach. But first, which of you can tell me how many Unforgivable Curses there are?" Professor Moody looked around the room.

The classroom was oppressively quiet. Harry raised his hand.

"Don't tell me a pack of vipers doesn't know how many Unforgivables there are?" Professor Moody said with a sneer, ignoring Harry. Harry lowered his hand with a frown. He was a viper just like the rest of them, but their new DADA professor acted as if he weren't. Harry wasn't yet sure whether this was a good or bad thing.

"There are three, sir," Theodore offered quietly.

"And they are so named?" Professor Moody ground out.

"Because they irreparably harm the affected person's soul, an unpardonable prospect," Theodore responded. Though he looked composed, Harry didn't miss the trickle of sweat crawling down the side of his face.

"Correct," their DADA professor growled. "Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you counter-curses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what the more dangerous curses look like until you're in your sixth year." He banged his hand on the table. "I say different! You need to know what you're up against! You need to be prepared!" He limped over to the blackboard with a bit of chalk in his hand as he wrote 'Unforgivables' across the board. "You need to find another place for your chewing gum besides the underside of your desk, Mr. Crabbe!"

Harry and the other Slytherins swiveled around to look at the gobsmacked Crabbe, whose face was flushed. Apparently Moody's roving eye could see through solid wood, as well as the back of his head.

Draco gave Crabbe a look of pure venom. "I said your  _best manners_ ," he hissed, "Now, apologize!"

"S-sorry, Professor Moody," Crabbe managed, eyes fixed on the table in front of him. The gum was still stuck tightly between his fingers.

"It takes a good man to know he was caught wrong-handed," the professor growled. There was a half-second pause before he continued. "Now, how are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to be nice and polite to your face. He's going to  _curse_  you!"

Harry swallowed. Images of Draco's father about to cast an Unforgivable at Harry for freeing Dobby flashed through his mind.

"So," Professor Moody said very slowly, eyes looking over them. "Which Unforgivable shall we see first? Hmm?"

Nobody offered a word, and Harry wasn't feeling brave enough to try again.

"Nott!" The professor barked, startling them all soundly.

Beside Harry, Theodore had the solemn look of someone visiting their dead relative at a funeral. "Yes, sir?"

"Give us a curse," Professor Moody whispered.

Harry swallowed nervously as Theodore hesitated. "The Imperius Curse…?"

"Ah, yes…" Professor Moody said brandishing his wand, eyeing Theodore. Thankfully, the professor turned heavily, walking to a set of cabinets with various insects hidden behind glass covers. He lifted one of the covers. "Hellooo!" He greeted whatever it was he'd scooped into his hand, "Lovely little beauty." He turned the wand upon it and then cast, " _Engorgio!_ " The spider was instantly as large as his meaty hand. " _Imperio!_ "

The strange-looking spider suddenly leapt from his hand on a fine thread of silk it had shot out from its end. It swung towards them as though it were on a trapeze and then straight onto Pansy's desk. She let out a scream as it began to cartwheel around the edges. Professor Moody jerked his wand and the spider jumped onto Goyle's head, who slapped his fingers over his eyes, moaning fearfully.

"Don't worry! It's completely harmless now," The professor said lightly and then flicked his wand again and the spider jumped onto Daphne's hand. She went very rigid as the spider suddenly rose onto two of its hind legs and began to tap dance. Not one of the Slytherins laughed, but Professor Moody apparently thought it was very funny indeed as he couldn't seem to help the short bites of laughter from bubbling out of him. "If she bites, she's lethal," he growled out as the spider was forced to crawl up Bulstrode's arm, who shrieked in terror.

Theodore's eyes darted, following the path of the massive spider.

"The Imperius curse," Professor Moody lectured while he continued to dance the spider across their desks and persons. Harry didn't flinch at the ticklish sensation as the spider crawled onto his hand and jumped onto his cheek and then climbed to sit momentarily atop his messy hair.

"It allows complete and total control of a living thing." The spider flung itself towards the window to Harry's left where a bucket of water was. "I could even make her drown if I wanted."

Every eye was fixed on the hapless spider who twitched and spasmed away from the water, appearing to try to escape death but unable to.

"Stop! We understand!" Harry shouted when everyone else was silent with fear. "The Imperius Curse can make you do whatever the caster wants."

The spider very quickly hopped away from the bucket when she was briefly released from the grip of magic, and Professor Moody levitated her back to his hand. "Total control," their professor said gruffly no longer looking amused. "Scores of witches and wizards have claimed that they  _only_ did You-Know-Who's bidding… under the influence of the Imperius Curse!" He swung his wand around, fixing a glare on Draco. "But here's the rub: How do we sort out the  _liars_?"

Harry swallowed as the spider was placed once more under the glass cover. Professor Moody apparently had never forgotten that Lucius Malfoy had wiggled out of a sentence to Azkaban with that very lie.

"The Imperius Curse  _can_  be fought. I'm going to teach you today how to do that. It takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better to avoid being hit by it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" He bellowed suddenly, causing every one of them to jump in their seats. "I'm going to Imperio each and every one of you to demonstrate its power. We'll see how you'll resist its effects… Everyone one up, UP!"

They all hopped to their feet taking their schoolbags with them. No one argued.

"Now, in line with Dumbledore's request of voluntary participation, I will allow you to excuse yourself if you're too much of a yellow-bellied coward to face the Imperius Curse." He fixed a hard stare on them with his normal eye while the other spun around. "Of course, then you'd learn the hard way—when someone's putting it on you to control you completely. Anyone want to run off, the exit's behind you." When no one moved, Professor Moody looked among the Slytherins with a smile on his face. "No? Then let's begin in alphabetical order," he ordered.

One by one, Harry watched as his classmates did the most extraordinary things under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Bulstrode performed a hand-stand; Crabbe did one-handed cartwheels while reciting the dates of a series of goblin wars; Tracey stole a ring from Pansy's finger and imitated a chattering monkey as she hung off the roughly hewn stone wall; Goyle did a graceful pirouette on the tip of his foot; Daphne lifted a heavy desk with one small hand; Draco imitated the caw of a crow and attempted to clean his nonexistent wing feathers; Theodore began to speak and sing in a guttural, haunting language Harry had never heard before; Pansy performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics; and Sally-Anne levitated herself off the ground a few inches with a wand in hand, impressing everyone in the room. Not one of them seemed able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Professor Moody had removed it.

Now his year-mates turned to him. Harry swallowed.

"Potter," their professor growled, "You next."

Harry moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that the others had stood when it was their turn. The professor raised his wand at Harry and said harshly, " _Imperio!_ "

It was the most wonderful feeling. Harry was floating as every thought and worry in his head evaporated. There was nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness… which Harry's mind slightly suspected. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him. Why had no one told him how great it felt to be under the Imperius Curse?

And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of Harry's largely empty brain.  _Jump onto the desk… jump onto the desk…_

Harry bent his knees obediently, preparing to spring, and then stopped.  _Why, though?_  The suspicious voice had awoken more fully in the back of his mind.  _Stupid thing to do, really_ , said the voice.

 _Jump onto the desk…_  Moody's voice repeated.

 _No, I don't think I will, thanks, might hurt myself attempting it_ , the voice said, a little more firmly. Harry straightened from his crouch, feeling relaxed once again.

_Jump. Onto. The. Desk!_

_No, I don't really want to… There's no reason to do it._  Harry stared blankly at Professor Moody.

 _JUMP! NOW!_  The voice had a roar like Vernon Dursley's.

The next thing Harry felt was considerable pain. He had thrown himself to the ground instead of jumping, which was why his ribs, chin, and kneecaps felt as if they'd been split by a hammer. The empty, echoing feeling in his head disappeared.

"Now,  _that's_  more like it!" Professor Moody sounded delighted. "Look at that, you lot… Potter  _fought!_  We'll try that again, and the rest of you pay attention—watch his eyes, that's where you see it—very good, Potter! They'll have trouble controlling  _you_! Stand up, stand up!" He said impatiently.

Harry achingly returned to his feet. His year-mates were staring at him with varying degrees of amazement from stunned to smug.

" _IMPERIO!_ " The professor cast forcibly.

Again, that wonderful feeling returned, and Harry felt carefree once more, though that suspicious voice at the back of his head woke up once again.  _What's going on?_  The voice asked Harry who didn't feel like it needed a response.

 _Don't fight it_ , a distant voice whispered.  _It feels good doesn't it? Not having to worry about anything at all._

 _Maybe we're drugged_ , the voice said.

_You want to scratch your nose… doesn't it itch?_

_Not really_ , came the voice again. Harry felt so good, like a nameless nobody without a care in the world.

_Isn't there something you'd like to tell one of your friends?_

_No, I tell them everything_ , the voice reasoned easily.

_There must be some deep, dark secret you don't want them to know…_

In the emptiness of Harry's mind a memory of Tom Riddle rippled into existence, ' _You and I share pieces of the same soul…'_

_Ah-ha! I was right. Well… Go on. Tell them a secret… no harm in it, right?_

A flicker of unease was smoothed out by the glorious feeling. Harry felt himself rock in place on his feet.  _I don't see how it's any of their business_ , the voice argued.

_You want to be honest with them, don't you? How can you call yourself friend when you hold yourself back?_

_Of course_. It made perfect sense. You don't keep secrets from friends. Harry opened his mouth, "You know two years ago when I was in the Chamber of Secrets—"  _NO, DON'T TELL THEM THAT_ , the voice screamed, and Harry clamped his mouth shut. He was somewhat aware of the focused looks from every single one of his year-mates, but stares didn't bother him in the slightest.

_Look at them, your friends are so suspicious now… you'll lose them if you don't tell them…_

Quite reasonable train of thought, indeed. "Tom Riddle said that—"

 _NO, NO, NO!_  The voice was having a tantrum. Harry frowned, feeling a bit put off by it for some reason.  _GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_  Suddenly the emptiness left Harry's head, and he took a deep breath as sensations and sense of self came crashing back. His fingers and toes were like ice as he trembled. Why had he gone along with Professor Moody's words? Even if it felt wonderful, it was a poison like antifreeze, which he remembered someone telling him about its lethal sweetness.

He was quite aware of the amazed stares upon him and really wished they wouldn't. He felt exhausted.

"Very good indeed, Potter," Professor Moody said chuckling with pleasure. His wand thrust forward once more. " ** _IMPERIO_** _!"_

Harry gasped once, and his body relaxed once more his anxiety fading to nothing again.

 _What's…_  the voice trailed off, losing track of what was going on. He was barely aware that he was even a student at Hogwarts. Mostly, he wanted to find a spot to sit in the sun and enjoy the breeze going through his hair... No worries, no cares to speak of.

 _There's a window over there with plenty of sunlight…_  A faraway voice echoed through him.

Harry obediently stepped towards the window and tilted his head up under the beams of light pouring through the window; his eyes closed. It felt good to be under the sunlight.

_Don't you want to feel a breeze…? Open the window._

He unlocked the latch and yanked the window open, leaning against the windowsill in the crisp fall breeze. He didn't even feel the cold now, not with the warm stone beneath his palms.

_Ever wondered how it's like to fly…?_

_Loads of times…_ , the voice said lethargically.

_Why don't you push yourself off then and give it a try… I heard the fall is like flying…_

Harry shoved his hands and feet against the wall climbing. As he stood on the deep windowsill, he looked down at the grounds far below, like the velvet green of the Quidditch Pitch.

Somewhere behind him as if far away, someone was screaming at him to get down, get down now!

_Arms out… very good. Feel the breeze, push your foot forward and...!_

Harry lifted a foot in anticipation, but a dark, murky voice from the back of his mind suddenly screamed,  **DON'T LISTEN!**  He put his foot down, still feeling relaxed.  **YOU WILL OBEY ONLY ME! NOW, TURN AND GET DOWN, YOU HALF-WIT HALFBLOOD, BEFORE I MURDER YOU MYSELF!** The sinister voice had a strange hissing quality to it.

Blinking stupidly, Harry turned and saw that his classmates were staring at him in horror. Part of him wondered if he might have fallen asleep during a lecture. He often had life-or-death nightmares replete with an uncomfortable amount of staring, and this seemed quite in line with them.

" _IMPERIO!"_ A soft, delightful chuckle came through Harry's empty mind, causing him to smile and wait for the next command to fall.  _It's much better to fall backwards anyway, isn't it?_

 **DON'T YOU DARE** , the hissy voice snarled out at Harry as he grabbed the sides of the window and leaned back. He straightened again. Distantly he heard someone sobbing, pleading to let him go; others were whimpering or gasping. Harry shook his head slightly, feeling the need to dislodge something from his forehead.

 _But I thought you wanted to fly…?_ The voice whispered sadly.

 _On a broom!_  A kinder voice yelled. Harry rather preferred that one.

_Then tell them what the Dark Lord told you in the Chamber of Secrets… We all wish to know…_

Harry blinked sluggishly, eyes twitching towards Professor Moody whose wand was aimed right at him. Harry's body wasn't cooperating; his tongue was leaden, his mouth full of cotton, and hands hung limply by his sides. He was only aware now because the black anger was cresting, building to terrifying heights, filling in the shadows of his mind with terribly familiarity.

_I won't force you to jump out the window, if you tell them…_

He hesitated, and then his mouth opened, "Tom Riddle said that we're not so different, since we're both Half-blood Parselmouth orphans, raised by abusive Muggles and Sorted into Slytherin… that we could be—" The first voice was screaming again.  _SHUT YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW!_

 _…Could be what…?_  That echoey voice asked. Quite suddenly, Harry wavered on the sill, leaning back over the grounds. The breeze felt cool against his skin, the sun warming, and yet sharp, cutting ice filled him.

 **YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!**  The sinister voice promised, growing larger and larger and larger, filling up the emptiness inside Harry's brain. Suddenly Harry tensed, sweaty fingers curling tightly against the seams of the window. Unsure of what he was doing, he flung himself forward into the classroom and crashed on top of a desk below. Rolling with the momentum, he ripped out his wand and snarled out, " _FLIPENDO!"_

The Knockback Jinx caught Professor Moody in mid-cast, and the wand flew out of his hand as the rest of him soared back, cracking into the opposite wall. The adult slumped to the floor unconscious. Nobody dared to utter a word.

Harry glared at his classmates, many of whom flinched under his inspection. "He is  ** _my_  **prey," he whispered. Of the nine, only Draco nodded; Theodore and Sally-Anne had matching frowns of worry, while the others had sickened or worried expressions—excluding Crabbe who looked quite impressed. None of them approached the downed Professor Moody to check to see if he was still breathing.

And then the clods of fury folded back, and Harry unsteadily got to his feet. His wand was vibrating in his hand, warming his palm. The sensation traveled down his arm and into his chest, and Harry thought he could breathe again. Draco offered his schoolbag, and Harry snatched it away. "Class dismissed," he said with a relieved chuckle and hobbled out of the classroom to the Great Hall.

His year-mates shadowed him without a word or whisper. For once, Harry didn't care whether or not he had hurt someone. That loon had nearly sent him tumbling out the third-floor window and had forced him to spill part of a secret that Harry had kept from his year-mates... He sighed softly.

He certainly wouldn't be the one to notify their overprotective Head of House about their DADA professor's crazy teaching methods, especially after Harry had sent the seasoned wizard flying. He was also aware that the headmaster really ought to know about the professor's unorthodox methods, but Harry didn't think the elderly wizard would take kindly to his close friend taking a crack to his head. Harry couldn't claim self-defense, not when there was the more harmless Disarming Charm he could have used. Besides, to say that the headmaster didn't already know the type of person this Alastor Moody was might be seen as an affront to his intelligence. There would be no benefit to Harry to bring the matter up, only potential detractions.

Slowly hesitant murmuring and whispering arose behind him. Harry wondered whether attacking a Hogwarts staff member was grounds for expulsion and whether he would manage to wiggle out of punishment as he had all the other times before if charges were brought against him. He'd have to inventory up the survival pack he'd made the previous summer in case he needed to run.

He would never allow anyone to break his wand or send him to Azkaban when he was only defending himself against nutters, like Professor Moody. And if the wizard pressed charges… well, Moody didn't precisely have a very good reputation left if he'd been forced to retire early. And, Harry very much doubted that the adult would manage to stay out of the prison himself after attempting to magically compel the Boy-Who-Lived to jump out a window.

A shiver ran through him, remembering what had helped prevent a fall from great heights. The wrathful voice had been much closer this time, screaming by his ear instead of whispering by his shoulder. He'd gone months without hearing it and worried whether it was his anger that drove it out or stress over his own sense of safety. Neither explained how it—the voice—could take hold of his body and perform Dark magic beyond his knowledge or capability, and Harry certainly didn't want to dwell on it. He was just glad it had decided to use a non-lethal spell on Moody.

He knew the signs of an unsound mind; he'd done some reading to better understand the Longbottoms' mute and regressed condition. He knew this, and yet decided to keep it to himself. The second-to-last place he ever wanted to end up was on the closed ward in St. Mungo's where Neville's parents currently resided. All he needed to do was to avoid situations which triggered whatever-it-was from surfacing and he'd be alright. He needed to be alright.


	6. Bloody Unforgivables

A tense Thursday passed somewhat uneventfully. His scar had ached for the better part of the day after he'd woken from a deep sleep that, for once, hadn't been belabored with nightmares. Against his expectations neither Snape nor the prefects cornered Harry about the events that had transpired in the DADA classroom, nor did his fellow fourth-years bring up what had happened. The headmaster didn't seem particularly concerned with Harry during meals either, which meant that Moody was just as tight-lipped about what happened as Harry and his housemates. So long as that held true, Harry wouldn't need to act; In the meantime, Harry was preoccupied with creating convincing half-truths when the questions inevitably arose. His small survival pack was awaiting use in the green pouch with his Invisibility Cloak.

The first Charms lesson had been on the Undetectable Super-Extended Charm as Professor Flitwick had promised Harry in their correspondence. The lesson really wasn't all that difficult. The professor even gave tips on how to upgrade an item already charmed with the Extension Charm. After Harry did the assigned task, he emptied the green pouch of the sickles he'd gotten from Ron before the end of last term, along with other items. He upgraded the pouch with the more advanced charm and then pressed the items back into it. Though his every move was catalogued by his year-mates, only Theodore seemed to have comprehension of what the rolled, black pack was.

Then there had been lunch, during which Harry hurried back to the Slytherin dungeons to add the new charm to his trunk while it was still fresh in his mind. Ever watchful, Draco and his pawns had trailed after him like a line of goslings. After successfully performing the charm, Harry quickly had slammed all his things back into his trunk, tapping it to enable the Locking sequence and rushed down to the Great Hall to get a plate to eat before Snape assigned detention for skipping lunch. If Draco and the others had trouble keeping up with Harry's swift pace, well that wasn't his problem.

Half an hour later, Transfigurations class had nearly driven Harry to hopeless frustration. Only the memory of the sinister voice from before reminded him to take a moment to collect himself. He had failed to conjure a flake of metal out of thin air. Having read the assignments, Harry had learned that conjuring something up was an Art of Transfiguration, not some specialized summoning spell. He thought he'd sooner go mad than create something out of air—and he was far too close to the former than he'd like. By the end of class, Harry had been the only one who hadn't finished the classwork as assigned. Merlin's beard, he thought, even  _Crabbe_  had managed to conjure a fleck of something even if it wasn't the correct metal! Professor McGonagall then gave them loads and loads of homework, writing essays and reading books and the like. Embarrassed by his complete lack of ability, Harry knew he would have to ask Terry Boot for suggested texts on Chaos Theory.

There was dinner and then the Slytherins returned to their dungeon; still, nobody bore down upon Harry demanding answers. With a grin, he hoped that would remain the case.

Friday morning was Double Herbology with Professor Sprout. Even though he didn't dream, an exhausted Harry was glad to be outside, mucky weather and all. Across the sodden vegetable patch, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws had arrived in greenhouse three. Professor Sprout was showing them the ugliest plants Harry had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

"Bubotubers," the professor told them briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus in these bottles—"

"The  _what_?" Pansy said, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Parkinson, pus," Professor Sprout said, apparently amused at Pansy's increasingly disgusted expression. "And it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it."

"Bubotuber Pus is used in Zit-Clearing Salve, right Professor Sprout?" Draco spoke up.

"Quite right. Five points to Slytherin. Madam Pomfrey will be very happy to have a large supply of the salve to prevent students from resorting to desperate measures…" The Herbology teacher looked around. "Well, what're you waiting for, an invitation? Get your dragon-hide gloves on; the pus can do funny things to the skin in its undiluted form."

Slipping the gloves on, Harry immediately got to work. Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. He heard several Ravenclaws and a few Slytherins retching each time a swelling splattered open. From each swelling, Harry collected a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid, which smelled strongly of petrol, into the provided bottles.

"It's not the worst thing I collected," Draco was saying to Theodore on the other side of Harry, "The Cream of Grin-Lilies is the absolute worst. My godfather made me collect some when I was eight. It resembles chunks of clotted blood and it smells like rotting shellfish. I couldn't eat lobster for weeks."

For some reason every witch who'd heard him burst into giggles.

Draco had frowned, when Theodore merely grinned. Then Harry's friend asked, "What potion would you say you use it for?"

"Wamba Pain Alleviation."

Now even the Ravenclaw boys were snickering.

"What is so funny?" Draco said irately.

"Ah, to make a stab in the dark… it alleviates the pain of the 'wamba', the womb… Better known for being taken during a week out of every lunar month by witches on the rag." Theodore shot a look at Anthony Goldstein—the only one not snickering among the Ravenclaw wizards—who nodded with a smug grin.

Draco's face burned a rather dark shade of red. After glancing around to see that Professor Sprout had moved into the adjacent room, he snarled, " _Shut it!_ ", at those who had burst into helpless giggling at Theodore's words.

"Why would their wombs hurt?" Harry asked without pausing from his work of collecting the pus.

Everyone exchanged glances with everyone else. Disliking that, Harry viciously popped another swelling, which made several of them turn away with a disgusted look. To the left of him, Draco was giving him an unreadable look. For once, the prat kept whatever rude comments rattling around his head to himself.

"From cramping." When Harry leveled him with a puzzled look, Theodore staved off his next question with an upraised hand. "Tell you what, Harry," he said, "I have just the book for you that'll tell you everything you need to know."

"Alright," Harry muttered, quite embarrassed not to know something that, clearly, his classmates did. He ducked his head down and continued popping swellings, trying to ignore the whispers.

After they had collected several pints of Bubotuber Pus, a booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, and the class left for lunch. Before entering Hogwarts, Harry cast a Scourgify and a Refreshening charm over him, disliking the stink and grime that came from handling the Bubotubers. He understood why his Slytherin year-mates had chosen to follow him around like a bunch of Potterheads—though clearly separated between witches and wizards with Sally-Anne and Theodore in the middle—rather than walk with him side-by-side. They were cautious after witnessing what he'd done to Professor Moody and perhaps even eager to see what he would do next. Since he really wasn't in the mood for it, Harry was quite happy to take advantage of their hesitance to start a conversation outside of class.

Maybe it was a little unfair to Theodore and Sally-Anne since they had largely ignored him since the start of the term. The flushed cheeks and bruises on their necks were the new normal, but it was odd that neither of them had announced any sort of relationship formally yet. He did feel a small amount of loss when he realized that they were smitten with one another and hoped they wouldn't forget him entirely for the rest of the year. Otherwise, Harry would have to look for more friends outside of Slytherin. Unfortunately, among their year Draco was the only exception; he would throw out comments on this or that thing when he felt it was relevant and expect some sort of response. It was aggravating.

When they finally made it to the Great Hall, Harry glanced up to the staff table and immediately noticed that Professor Moody was absent. The four witches went to sit by some third year girls while Harry's closest friends found a less populated part of the table to sit and eat. He followed to sit with them. "Where's Moody?"

"Evidently," Draco began with a quiet tone over Harry's right shoulder, "someone replaced the sticks of chalk he preferred with cursed chalk. He's, ah,  _resting_ in his personal chambers. You see, he refused to stay in the infirmary against Madam Pomfrey's advice."

Taking a seat beside Theodore, Harry turned to level Draco with a curious look.

A pleased smirk curled his lips. "Rumor has it there was a message written across his face which resembled a pincushion when the chalk exploded."

"What did it say?" Harry didn't like how Draco was looking at him.

"'Do not invade the minds of Dark Lords for you are but flesh awaiting death.' Rather curious, don't you think? The culprit could be  _any_  student, since Professor Moody finished his last class of the week this morning."

"It wasn't me," Harry said a bit too quickly and then ate a large forkful of cooked carrots.

Draco shook his head. "Of course not. It doesn't follow your history of avoiding open conflict, nor do you have the required skill to create the cursed chalk or the means of getting it. Frankly, I think you've got a secret admirer."

"A secret admirer who leaves horrific messages?"

"It's that or a powerful rival. Which version do you prefer?"

A snort erupted from Harry. "If you're going to come up with an alibi, then at least make it believable."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I don't know where you picked up the idea that I had anything to do with this. Even if I happen to think Professor Moody's exercise was only meant to force you to submit to his control, since a fall from that height wouldn't have killed you, I'm not stupid enough to go after someone else's mark."

The memory of Neville falling from a great height and surviving with only a broken wrist came to mind. Unsettled, Harry shrugged and then turned to his left. Past Theodore, a frowning Sally-Anne was picking at her food listlessly. For once that year, the two weren't sharing food or drink. "What do you think about the attack on Moody, Theo?"

His friend looked a bit wan, but not as drained as Lupin had this close to the full moon. "I think you should be careful. The culprit might make themselves known to you, whoever they are. I wouldn't be surprised if they were expecting some sort of reward."

Nodding, Harry took up a roll, and the subject was dropped. Conversation turned to more mundane topics. There was some gossip about the Weasley twins feuding with Peeves the Poltergeist, leaving swaths of hard-to-clean clutter in their wake in the upper floors far from Bloody Baron's preferred haunting ground. There was talk of various year-mates pairing off into dates—Draco had nothing good to say about Susan Bones and Dean Thomas, particularly about the latter wizard, but that was unsurprising due to him being Muggle-born—and a brief, condescending announcement by Draco about accepting his first challenge from a  _girl_.

Quickly thereafter, Theodore switched the conversation to a discussion about how his da wanted him to begin apprenticeship projects once or twice a month, considering how difficult it would be to acquire the necessary skills to create Dark Creature Sensors. "Granda waited until Da started in his sixth year, but Da thinks it'd be better to have me start early."

"If you're apprenticing, then it'll be difficult to keep up with the Hogwarts curriculum," Draco said.

"Yes, it will be. But I'll have help." He grinned towards Sally-Anne who seemed to find her plate of food more enticing. "Besides, Da's already peeved at me. He wants me out of Hogwarts."

"I suppose part-time school is better than none at all," Draco said breezily. "I think it'd be best to get your O.W.L.s before you pull out."

"I'll do better and sit for my N.E.W.T.s."

"Well, I applaud your ambition. Not everyone finishes their seventh year when they've already an occupation guaranteed to them."

"Yeah." Theodore smiled thinly, his eyes were partly shadowed. Before Draco had noticed, Harry's friend had turned his eyes to the plate in front of him to finish his meal.

Unhappily, lunch ended shortly after that. Harry did not want to go to his least favorite class, Double Potions. He wasn't particularly  _bad_  at brewing potions; It was the professor and Head of House he had been avoiding where possible. His longing for family last year had blinded him to Snape's motives and shut his ears to the truth Mrs. Longbottom had imparted. The greasy-haired git only looked out for himself and no other. That truth still stung, even when Harry didn't want to care any longer about a mistake.

Despite his yearning to skive off Potions, his feet carried him down the stairs to the dungeons and into the chilly, dank Potions classroom with his house-mates. Looking at the board, he noticed they would be brewing a Dreamless Sleep Draught. He dutifully collected his cauldron and a small box of potions ingredients. Setting the pewter cauldron onto the little steel stand, Harry opened his Potions textbook to the page the blackboard declared. Many of his classmates milled about awaiting direction.

Snape with his black robes stormed into the Potions lab not a moment later, looking furious but not quite as angry as when Sirius Black had escaped. "Are you waiting for an invitation? Fifteen points from Gryffindor—" There was a loud outcry over that. They really ought to have known by now. It was their own fault, really. "You have seen the written instructions.  _Get to work_  before I assign detention as well, you incompetent lumps."

The redhead to his right was attempting to pass a note to him, but Harry wanted none of that, particularly under Snape's hawkish gaze. Ron got the idea and handed the slip of paper back to Hermione who didn't look very pleased at all to be rebuffed. Better her ire than Snape's detention assignments, Harry thought. She could send post if she really wanted.

He read over the instructions and the finer details. He was immediately aware of a niggling feeling at the back of his mind. Harry clamped down his thoughts, imagining the cupboard under the stairs, and the feeling vanished. Forcing himself not to glare, he stared down at the page of his book, knuckles white as they tightly gripped the pages.

Not a minute later, Harry heard Snape say, "Longbottom, melt through another cauldron today and you will  _sorely_  regret it."

Neville whimpered as he muttered the instructions from the book aloud, his fingers trembling.

After the thought occurred to him that his brother may have forgotten to replace the surviving cauldron from last year, Harry immediately stood up and went to the space allotted for his Potions supplies to fetch a brand-new one. He stalked over to Neville, who made an alarmed noise when Harry snatched the cauldron from the steel ring it was propped up on.

"What are you doing?" Finnigan demanded with steel in his voice.

Dropping the brand-new cauldron onto Neville's set-up with a dull thunk, Harry then shoved his hand through the bottom of Neville's shiny cauldron. He wiggled his fingers at his wide-eyed brother to show just how unhurt he was from punching out the bottom of his cauldron.

"Oi! Look here! You can't go around ruining people's things on a whim!" The Gryffindor snarled.

Broken cauldron held in the crook of his left arm, Harry already had his wand drawn, but kept against his side in case Finnigan tried anything. Quite aware that his brother was likely gaping at him, Harry said towards Finnigan, "It was rubbish, Neville. I gave you a new one." Finnigan kept glaring; Harry wasn't sure why the Gryffindor held such a strong grudge against him. He had more reason to hate Draco than anyone in the room.

"What seems to be the problem?" Behind him, Professor Snape's voice was dangerously quiet.

" _This_ is rubbish," Harry said loudly in his direction and chunked the broken cauldron into the massive dustbin reserved for ruined cauldrons. Before it clattered to a stop, he had already returned to his seat. Snape didn't say a word as he looked thoughtfully towards the dustbin.

"Professor!" came Finnigan's outraged voice.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Finnigan, for not staying on task," Snape said before returning to his desk.

Taking the chunks of Valerian Root and placing them into his mortar, Harry smirked when Finnigan turned narrowed eyes to him.

"I'm so proud of you," Draco's lofty, condescending voice announced from the desk, a level down and in front of Harry's as if he were a prized dog. It ruined the good feeling Harry had fostered from helping his brother.

"Can it, Malfoy," Ron hissed beside Harry, who hadn't bothered to respond to Draco's taunts while he pulverized the root with the ceramic pestle. Glancing to his right, Ron and Hermione had already begun working on their own potions; Hermione had a smile of approval on her face.

"If you ask nicely, I might."

Ron choked and then immediately looked down when Snape passed behind them. As soon as the Potions Master began to berate Lavender Brown for not grinding the root down to its proper coarseness before beginning her potion, Ron hissed out, " _Please_  shut your gob, Malfoy."

"Sorry? I couldn't hear you." Draco smirked.

Ron went red in the face, gnashing his teeth.

Harry took pity on the Gryffindor. "If you don't get to work, you won't finish your potion on time, Draco."

With a smile, Draco turned in his seat to continue preparing the ingredients.

"I don't know how you do it. I would've murdered him by now if I had to share a bloody room with him," Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry shrugged. To his left, Theodore seemed more interested in how Sally-Anne was preparing ingredients on the table to the left of them than his own, which was looking to be quite a mess. Harry wasn't about to start harping about a subject the werewolf didn't really care all that much about and so let it go.

In his own mortar, the root was grinding down slowly, contributing to the putrid stench in the air that had begun to fill the Potions classroom as the students worked to render the dried Valerian Root into dust. Finished, Harry scooped four measures of the yellow-white powder into his cauldron and added nine sprigs of Lavender.

Uncorking several vials of Flobberworm Ooze, he dumped them into the mixture and then tapped the the cauldron stand with his wand. The steel set-up began to glow a dark red color, and Harry began to stir the mixture six times anti-clockwise and then six times in the other direction.

Once the potion was fully blended and bubbles formed, Harry tapped his wand against the metal stand again. The heat rose higher and he stirred it ten times anti-clockwise and then ten times in the opposite direction, repeating until it began to boil. With a single tap, he removed the heat and the cauldron began to cool. He left it untouched then, glancing at the clock on the wall. The draught took ten minutes to set completely before it was safe to bottle.

Theodore looked into Harry's cauldron. "I think you've done yours perfectly," he said, disheartened.

Harry blinked and stood up to look into his friend's cauldron. Instead of looking clear and gelatinous, Theodore's had a brownish tinge to it and smelled foul. Harry bit down the cheeky impulse to tell him to pay more attention to the brewing process. He suspected that had Theodore been minding pudding on a stove, it would have long been past scorched and firmly in the realm of badly burned by now.

"Bottle it up, Nott," Snape said lowly from behind them, causing Harry to startle. Bloody adult was the only one who could sneak up on him on a regular basis.

"But it's got to sit for ten—"

"Do you want detention?"

"No, sir…" Theodore said miserably and used his ladle to pour the warm contents of his cauldron into a large flask and stoppered it.

"Then I suggest that you keep your hands preoccupied with your potion rather than your girlfriend." The bespectacled Slytherin turned bright red as Theodore moved over on the bench to put space between them. He sighed, looking at congealed dark brown substance within the flask.

Eyeing the retreating black-robed, slouched form, Harry reminded himself that it wouldn't be much longer before he left the dingy classroom.

"Violet…" Snape growled over Neville's flinching head. " _Longbottom_ , the instructions specifically said  _nine_  sprigs of lavender, not  _nineteen_. Detention. Tonight. I have a barrel full of horned toads, and I need their brains and livers."

Neville whimpered, pressing his face against the table, while Draco began to laugh maliciously.

"Quiet, Draco," Harry snapped. The professor's black eyes flicked to Harry, who quickly glared down at the table and then at his godson.

Effectively silenced, Draco leaned his chair against the front of Harry's table and smirked up at him. Harry scowled and fixed his eyes on the clock, expecting to hear Snape continue harassing Neville. It was not to be.

"Flirt on your own time, boys," Snape drawled out the side of his mouth, enunciating every word.

Blood rushed to Harry's face as he bit his tongue to stop the response begging to fall,  _If that's flirting, then Finnigan's bloody well sleeping with him!_ Of course, the bloody prat looked pleased with himself, facing towards his workstation again like a good student. Around Harry, several Gryffindors let out helpless snickering, though they attempted to muffle it with their hands and fists. Ron gave himself a rather loud smack the face to cure himself of the sudden onset of compulsive giggling. That at least gave Harry distraction enough to exert control over his anger.

When Professor Snape's eyes raked over the redhead, Ron was looking solemnly at his cauldron as he stirred. Finding no sign of anything amiss, the Potions Master continued prowling through the classroom to peer into Gryffindors' cauldrons to deduct points if they made a mess of it.

Leaning back once more, Draco grinned with oozing amusement, while Harry glared at him. This was  _his_  ruddy fault that Snape thought that Harry—"Potter, I thought I told you to stop making eyes at my godson."

Crabbe accidentally knocked Goyle's set-up over when he began to laugh like a drain. Draco casually flicked his wand, casting a spell to put the fire out.

Boiling with rage, Harry turned a dark look at Snape. The bloody bastard was amused!  _Don't react, be civil…_  Harry chanted in his head, wishing the damn minute hand on the clock would move faster. He breathed deeply attempting to calm down.  _Won't owe anything to Draco if you keep it together. Which is probably why the prat is trying to set me off._ Oh, Harry wouldn't give him that and definitely wouldn't give the greasy-haired bastard the satisfaction of assigning detention to Harry on the first day of Potions.

Snape, who had made his third round about the classroom, lazily gestured to the Dreamless Sleep Draught still remaining in Harry's cauldron. "I would bottle that before it spoils, Potter. Be careful not to spill a drop… lest your grade gets docked," he said in that irritating, measured way that always got under Harry's skin. Mercilessly shoving the anger away, Harry flexed his fingers against the table's underside until he regained his calm. There was no black rage, no sinister voice. Small blessing, that.

Once the Potions Master had turned away, Ron and Hermione looked at Harry and then at Snape's back and then at Harry again with equally perplexed expressions, though Ron's was much more comical with his overly expressive wide eyes and gaping mouth. The redhead appeared to want to say something, but thought better of it and looked down at his cauldron of bubbling muck. Harry thought this was a good choice considering that at the moment he wasn't entirely averse to starting a fight.

Snatching up the ladle next to his cauldron, Harry bottled the thick potion, corked, and labeled it. Turning it in with a harsh jab of his hand, he returned to his table to grab his dirty cauldron and used tools to clean them before the potion hardened into cement. He didn't miss the looks of pity from several of the Gryffindors in the room.

"Harry the Fairy," Finnigan muttered under his breath as Harry passed to put the clean items away. So unexpected as that slur was—which shouldn't have been—he jerked mid-step and spun to face him.

"What did you say?" He asked in a perfectly calm voice that didn't betray the array of feelings raging inside of him.

"I  _said_ , Harry don't tarry, forever to carryin', the love o' berries." The Gryffindor's grin was demented and inimical.

"That will be another ten points from Gryffindor and two weeks' worth of detention, Finnigan," Snape announced from his desk at the front of the classroom where a ledger full of students' Potions marks lay. "For the inattention to your potion and another ten points from Gryffindor for your pitiful attempt at haiku."

After Harry returned to his workspace to collect his unused ingredients to store them with the rest of his supplies, he grabbed his schoolbag and stormed out of the Potions classroom without waiting to be dismissed.

It was the end of the first week of classes, and Harry already felt the start was a portent of the school term to follow.

Since Harry had a few hours to himself without being followed around, he walked through the corridors, chatting with this painting and that until the bell tolled for dinner. He felt much more at peace when he settled in and let his housemates' conversations wash over him without participating much.

After dinner, as promised, Theodore handed a worn book to him in their dorm room, though Harry could feel the eyes of his remaining roommates on him. "It'll tell you everything you need to know."

Harry sat at his desk and cracked open the tattered book, which was entitled  _Know Your Maturing Body: The development into adulthood for wizards and witches_ , only to shut it after a few pages in, his ears bright red from the very detailed animated drawings of a time lapse of two similar nude forms sprouting hair and changing shape as they went through puberty; he'd known about the process of changing into a young adult, but nothing quite so detailed as the drawings had indicated. By Harry's own observations, girls clearly went through the process first, and clearly he would never be able to forget the nude drawings as they flashed through his mind again. He closed his eyes imagining the derivative of an equation from Arithmancy to force the image out of his head.

"That's a classic," Draco's voice said over his shoulder. "Should you have any questions—"

"I can manage fine on my own, thanks," Harry said abruptly as he shoved the book aside and pulled out his homework assignments. If he had any questions, he'd go straight to the library rather than deal with the likes of the prat who'd plainly preened when Snape told them to stop flirting. It wasn't as if Harry didn't already know about sex or the general idea of what to expect as he grew older.

With a sniff, his roommate moved away to work on his own assignments. The tension that had set in two days ago was unrelenting. Harry's scar began to ache again. He pressed a hand against his forehead and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The drawing of the shapely nude female came to mind again, and he mercilessly shoved it out.

That Saturday, Theodore's Da removed Theodore from school, and he wouldn't be due back for a week. After a largely lazy day, Harry skipped the dueling session, instead going into Slytherin's Personal Study to chat with the ancient wizard's painting. Salazar Slytherin seemed concerned about Harry's general appearance, but Harry waved it off and requested that the Founder speak of the olden days when Hogwarts was still new and the Founders were still friends.

So, the painting talked at length about the great Lady Ravenclaw who had created the Triwizard Tournament to be a showcase event to magical families with prospective students, a coming-of-age rite meant to prove the mettle of a champion's character,  _and_  to promote international cooperation between vastly distant and different kingdoms. "The Lady Ravenclaw's favorite quip was to say 'Why would I strike two birds with a stone when I could hit more?' She always strove for efficiency and precision in everything she did; a trait I admired." A drawn look came across the bald, bearded wizard. "I am saddened to see that the Triwizard Tournament has fallen far from its original purpose."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked.

"It was a ceremony to test a champion's wits and magic, not a trifling sporting event. By passing all three Tasks, not only does it show a strong sense of survival, but the Tournament was  _designed_  to prove that age in the short term does not determine the true worth of a magical person. This talk of a monetary reward was never part of the original Tournament. It encourages, no doubt, magically skilled but weak-minded fools to leap willingly to their death," Slytherin said gruffly. His accent, while rough, was much improved from when Harry introduced his roommates in the Entrance Hall, which reminded him…

"Sir… This is off topic, but might I ask where you've kept your journals?"

Salazar Slytherin lifted a bushy eyebrow. "You seek deeper knowledge of the Dark Arts then?"

"Er. No… I have an ongoing argument with Draco Malfoy. He doesn't believe that you've always rejected blood purism."

"As expected. The Malfoys were one of the many sponsors of my research after I left Hogwarts. They wanted evidence that their blood purist theories were correct. My position was so untenable that I could not directly refute them without losing everything," the Founder said grimly. "Yes, you may take my entire thesis that disproves that pureness of blood lineage has anything to do with the gift of channeling magic. On the bottom shelf of the green bookcase a few paces to your left is where the two volumes are."

Harry nodded going to it. But when he checked the bottom shelf there was only a large space where the books must have been before they were taken. There was a great amount of dust. "Er, sir… nothing's there."

"…Then, Tom Riddle never returned them. Troubling, if that research has not become common knowledge."

Inhaling sharply at the sound of his enemy's name, Harry looked up in surprise. "You knew Tom Riddle?"

The wizard closed his eyes in thought. For a long moment, he said nothing and then, "Tom Marvolo Riddle is my descendant. I told him about Jinara in the Chamber of Secrets. I mentored him in the Dark Arts. He was a very quick study and absorbed everything in front of him. And when he began to argue about blood purity, I let him borrow the thesis. How do you know of him? He came far before your time."

"Because… Tom Riddle is the one who gave me this scar." Harry drew a finger over the lightning bolt.

There was a long moment when the painting said nothing as forest green eyes looked at the scar and then came a sigh.

"Little wonder then that his Englisce was heavily accented, if he was actually from this century…" The old wizard's face grew taut with a mixture of sadness and disgust. "I was led to believe that he would use the knowledge in a different manner… No matter. What's done is done. He's paid the price of understanding that a learned fool is a learned fool, whether the magic is Dark or Illume."

Harry nodded, not really understanding.

Salazar Slytherin stroked his beard and then paused, leaning to the right out of the frame of view. "It appears the dueling session is over. Earlier, Severus informed me that he enacts a very strict curfew."

"Yes, sir… I'll be going then."

"Peace be with you, young Potter."

 _"Beo gesund,_ Mr. Slytherin." Harry left through the hidden back entrance and re-entered through the portrait-hole behind the Thin Lady. As soon as Sally-Anne had seen him enter the common room, she burst into a wide grin, bouncing happily in place.

Harry's eyes flicked down at the front of her robes as the same confounded image of the nude drawing popped into his mind before he forced his eyes to her face. "You won then?"

She nodded, her hair flipping at the motion. "Yes!"

"Fantastic." It meant that Harry didn't owe Draco any more bloody favors. "I suppose he thought it was a fluke and challenged you to another duel?"

"Oh,  _yes_!" Sally-Anne's entire posture looked jubilant at the prospect of knocking Draco's profound ego down another couple of notches.

"Have fun and if you need any tips just ask," Harry said and then traveled up the stairwell to the fourth-year boys' dormitory, somewhat eager to be away from her. Of late, he noticed he was having trouble focusing around witches.

The thought that Draco was sulking in their room banished any unwanted images from Harry's mind. Pity that the prat wasn't actually doing so.

Losing the duel had set fire in his blood. The blond was practicing a wide range of hexes and low-level curses on the very dummy that Harry had used some years ago. Playing chess, Crabbe and Goyle were hunkered behind a shield charm, which rippled with a light display whenever a spell ricocheted from the dummy.

"You lost then," Harry stated more than asked, knowing how it would infuriate the other teen.

Slightly out of breath, Draco shoved his wand into its holster. He spun around, eyes bright and wild. "You  _knew_."

"You must've had some idea after seeing her levitate herself under the Imperius curse," Harry responded coolly. "Of course I knew how it would turn out, Draco. She's not the type to be overconfident. If she challenged you, then it went without saying that—"

"But instead of watching a  _girl_  wipe the floor with me, you spared me the humiliation of your laughter. Why would you do that? I know we aren't friends, but you certainly don't act as if you secretly hate me either."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew everyone would be occupied by the duel and had taken the option of slipping away to visit with Salazar Slytherin. "Would laughing at you now make you feel better?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I was busy doing something else. It had nothing to do with you and, no, I won't tell you what it was."

Draco scowled, as his fingers traveled over his black wand. "I'm going to beat her. And when I do, you'll owe me two favors. And then—"

"Good night, Draco." While Harry Switched into his night robes, Draco opened his mouth and then wisely chose to shut it when Harry turned a glare on him, daring him to say something.

After Harry crawled under his covers, a calm voice said, "Good night, your Grace. Pleasant dreams."

Harry quietly summoned the edge of the curtains to his hand, closing them around him. Rolling over, he shoved his wand under his pillow and fell asleep.

* * *

The month of September gave way to October and with it more cold and damper weather. No one came to interrogate Harry. He suspected that no one would, unless he spilled the beans. Theodore had returned a few days after the full moon, looking little worse for wear but not sick. Sally-Anne caught him up on all his missing assignments in the common room and library; Harry rarely saw much of them during study and free periods to begin with, so Harry went with them, if only so that Draco and company weren't the only companions he had. At least Harry's four other Slytherin year-mates had found something else to entertain themselves with instead of tagging along.

Sometimes Pansy or Tracey would pass a note to Harry from Daphne warning him to keep his robes and personal effects free of stray hairs; she had earlier given him an incantation which would summon any of his hairs lying about so he might then Vanish them more easily. Basic Cleaning Charms often missed hair due to its similarity to thread, she had explained patiently in her neat handwriting. It confused Harry as to why anyone would want to Polyjuice him, beyond ruining his reputation.

That was on top of another development that had arisen nearly a week ago. One which required Harry to stay up later than any of the others to cast a Silencing Ward on his bed to keep them in the dark about it.

The following night was no different.

_A black-haired woman wearing robes screeched in agony as the Torture Curse tore through her. A minute passed and then another before the wand dropped. The witch sobbed with relief, sagging into the wooden floor in front of the blazing fireplace._

_"Who sent you, Hestia Jones?" came the quietly dangerous whisper._

_"Al-already said. D-dumbledore," she said weakly. "The headm-master."_

_"Why?"_

_"I don-don't know why… M-meant to keep my d-distance. To observe."_

"We will have to move, Nagini, and take our necessary preparations with us _…_  So few know that I am alive, even fewer who know my precise location Unplottable as it is… and yet we've been discovered. How. Is. This.  **Possible**? _" The Parseltongue whisper caused Harry to uncurl from the place in front of the witch who flinched at the likely sinister sounds._

 _"_ Shall I eat her, Master?" Harry hissed.

"Patience, Nagini… I do not want you damaged by kicking prey."

_Hestia Jones let out a thready chuckle. "He m-must know by now that you're in Little Hangleton…" She laughed. "He m-must know how d-desperate—_

_The wand flicked again, "Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry thrashed and came awake. His night robes were soaked with sweat again. This had been the last of three nights that he'd dreamt of a witch being tortured, always from the point of view of a snake. Harry palmed his stinging scar in a soothing manner. Voldemort had gotten too active ever since Mundungus Fletcher…

That had been the first lured in by Bertha Jorkins. The wizard had broken within moments of the first Cruciatus Curse. He had nothing to say that was of interest to Voldemort and had spent his last moments begging for his life to be spared by promising anything and everything.

Unfortunately for him, Voldemort already had his docile servant and had desired no one as untrustworthy as the sad excuse of a wizard Fletcher clearly had been. Now, Harry knew he would have to write that Hestia Jones had been murdered as well and what she had told Voldemort in her last moments and what the madman had said about relocating. Forcing himself out of bed, he shakily tore off his soaked robes to allow the cool air to dry him. Wand in hand, he collected his writing materials and sat in the windowsill.

 _"Muffliato,_ " he murmured. " _Dictus_."

In the light of a waning moon, ink flowed from the quill onto the parchment as Harry whispered the terrible evils he was cursed to observe from the position of a beloved pet snake. Before he signed his name, Harry asked what he might do to help stop Voldemort.

* * *

Arithmancy slowly progressed. Professor Vector seemed particularly pleased with the Calculus group's steady progress, since she had yet to assign them any homework. Boot had given Harry a beginner's book on Chaos Theory, while Sally-Anne and Hermione looked on worriedly. In Care of Magical Creatures, the Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. The half-giant added to their workload by suggesting they take alternate evenings to observe the Skrewts and make notes on their behavior.

"I will not," Draco flatly declared when Hagrid had posited this as if he were giving them the grand prize at the end of a telly programme. "I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks."

"Yeh'll do what yer told," Hagrid growled, his smile fading off his face, "or I'll have yeh makin' rounds in th' Forbidden Forest with me, Malfoy."

Draco frowned, but didn't say anything more after Harry gave him a warning look.

Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher, droned on and on about various goblin rebellions and uprisings. During the study period, Harry opened the book on Chaos Theory and avidly read until the bell for dinner rang. He kept dozing off during Astronomy class, but Theodore kept him up-to-date about what he was supposed to learn.

On Thursday morning, Harry received a brief response from the headmaster. For once, Draco didn't even glance Harry's way when the envelope dropped into his hand. The other Slytherin was showing Crabbe the proper wand movement for a curse the larger boy had asked about.

_Dear Harry,_

_The information you've provided of your own accord has already helped immensely. I know you are distressed by the deaths of Mundungus Fletcher and Hestia Jones, but know that they did not die in vain. Aurors have been recalled from Georgia to provide added security to the Triwizard Tournament and to aid in the manhunt of an exceedingly dangerous wizard._

_In addition, Muggle sightings of Ms. Jorkins suggest that she is not in an independent capacity. She would have contacted her family at the least upon her arrival to England. The Minister of Magic believes the events at the Quidditch World Cup could have stemmed from a security breach through Ms. Jorkins. The general consensus is that she may still be under an Imperius Curse and so necessary precautions have been made to ensure her safety should she be taken into Auror custody._

_If anything else out of the ordinary catches your attention, please don't hesitate to Owl me with your concerns._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_  
_Headmaster of Hogwarts_

Folding the letter, he stuffed it back into its envelope and shoved it into his robes. Almost immediately, Draco turned to Harry. "Where've you been?"

With a curious thought, Harry pulled out the letter again and Draco's eyes grew unfocused and confused.

"Whatever you're doing stop that."

Harry shoved the letter back into his pocket. "Stop what? This?"

Again, Draco's eyes slid past him, before Harry tucked it away again.

"How are you doing that?"

"It should be obvious to someone who grew up among  _magical folk_ ," Harry said in a deliberately snotty manner. He rather liked the annoyed expression that settled across Draco's features.

"I've never come across a Notice-Me-Not Spell as powerful as that one before."

"I'm nearly better at Charms work than you are now," Harry said.

Instead of arguing, Draco smiled in a proud way that set Harry's teeth on edge. "Your skill at magic has made incredible gains… Other than one pesky little class."

"Don't remind me," Harry said glumly.

Study of Ancient Runes was its usual madness. Harry thought he was getting steadily better at cracking the various patterns, though he certainly wasn't the best at it. He noticed it was always easier to do the classwork with a relaxed mind and steady hands than to panic when faced with an insurmountable task.

For the last several DADA lessons, they had been taught how to cast the Imperius Curse on spiders. As Professor Moody had explained it to them, it wasn't good enough to see it and know its effects. One had to have a more  _intimate_ knowledge of the subject to be better prepared for it. Harry promised he would cast it correctly once, just to get a feel for it. On his very first try the spider was under his complete control. He released the poor creature and spent the rest of class pretending he couldn't do it before anyone noticed. The Unforgivable had come too easily, easier than even his progress with charms.

Their current lesson was about the Cruciatus Curse, otherwise known as the Torture Curse. They were told to perform the curse on their own spider. Harry tried it once and then refused thereafter disturbed by the twitching and trembling spider, whose pincers scratched together in some semblance of a scream. As he watched how the others didn't hesitate to practice it, he did have to wonder whether teaching the students how to cast the Unforgivables was part of the approved curriculum... It certainly couldn't be legal.

' _If anything else out of the ordinary catches your attention, please don't hesitate to Owl me with your concerns.'_ But as much as Harry greatly suspected that these spells weren't approved, he'd rather know them than not. It wasn't like a Death Eater would hesitate using them against him.

Indirectly looking toward the bad-tempered professor who corrected Goyle's spellcasting for the umpteenth time, Harry wasn't sure what to think. Professor Moody was extra vigilant with his chalk ever since that incident, only using sticks from a box he pulled from a pocket. No one had been indicted in the attack; gossip said that Professor Moody had said he'd take care of the problem himself, and it was obvious who he suspected from his furtive glances and hands-off manner: Harry Potter.

What bothered Harry was that the adult had never assigned detention or taken away House points for Harry's use of the Knockback Jinx on him; he never even pulled Harry aside to discuss that he was wrong to attack a teacher, barring the hypocrisy of the adult's overkill of the Imperius curse on Harry. In fact, there had been absolutely no mention of his violence against the professor at all.

Harry could not miss the wariness with which Professor Moody watched him. Not once had the wizard stumped by Harry to give him advice on casting or to comment on his haphazard participation. No, the adult gave him a wide berth, appearing much more interested in observing him like one of those collectors inspected a favored insect pinned inside a display case. Whenever it gave Harry the willies, he would turn a steady look at the professor with his demonic, whirling eye and deliberately place a hand on his holly wand. Professor Moody would grin and go back to correcting the others. The feeling of mistrust and unease was becoming deep-seated within Harry; there was something very off-putting about Mad-Eye Moody. What if he really was the servant sent by Voldemort?

Harry swiped the niggling fear away. If Mad-Eye Moody, vaunted hunter of Dark Arts practitioners, had been replaced by a staunch Dark Lord lover, then Harry's trust in Professor Dumbledore's competency would seriously be compromised. No, he had to believe that he was just being paranoid. Perhaps the headmaster already suspected him, Harry thought. Why else would he ask for Harry's input? But it was awfully vague, wasn't it? He couldn't just assume that Professor Moody was suspected from Dumbledore's letter.

Deciding to set the problem aside for now seemed the best option since Harry's brain was steadfast in its attempt to leave him in knots, instead of providing him with a solution. Theodore had given him a book on political espionage, which had detailed all manner of magical spying. A Secret Sensor could snoop out a Polyjuiced individual. The problem was that they were such delicate things; once broken, they gave inaccurate readings. Several would be needed to provide evidence simultaneously in front of adult witnesses to prove Harry's suspicions weren't unfounded. Since the class had been dismissed, Harry let that idea percolate.

Charms lesson was a breeze as usual, though Professor Flitwick had assigned three books to read in preparation for his unit on Summoning Charms, something which Harry had been able to do since his first year. Despite supplemental reading on Chaos Theory, Harry still slogged through lesson after lesson on conjuring an object out of thin air and was miserable when Professor McGonagall continued to assign loads of homework to him after each class period, while the others were given far less to do. The smirk on Draco's face only grew wider each time Harry failed as if there was an opportunity of improvement that Harry was missing. Harry knew where that would lead: to more bloody favors. He would figure out what he was doing wrong, and failing that there was always Sally-Anne he could ask.

Double Herbology was the simplest class of the lot, which was likely why his brother had talked about it so much over the summer—Harry nearly smacked himself in the forehead. He'd been preoccupied with everything else he'd completely forgotten about his promise to Neville about jogging daily with him. He resolved to pull the taller teen aside before Double Potions and talk to him. Doing so hours later, he extracted a time Saturday when they would do their run.

In the dungeons classroom, they were researching antidotes, which the class had taken seriously since Snape had strongly hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Even though his brewing skills were decent, Harry saw no point in prolonging the pain of poison if his antidote failed, so he made a note to himself to remember to Owl-Order a bezoar from the Hogsmeade Apothecary. During study periods, he spent many hours in the library with Sally-Anne and Theodore. While he ignored Draco's subtle overtures to help Harry with a certain class if given enough favors, Harry also researched a reasonably challenging antidote, hoping to best Draco's choice of antidote considering how the prat gloated about his skill at Potions.

When the fourth-year Slytherins arrived in the Entrance Hall for dinner, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase.

"What's it say, Goyle?" Draco's voice ordered.

"Triwizard Tournament: The delegations from Beh-auhcks-bat-ons—"

"Beauxbatons," Draco corrected.

"And Durmstrang will be arrivin' at six o'clock on Friday the Twenty-Eighth of October," Goyle continued, "Students will assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcomin' Feast."

"Only a week away then!" Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff said, emerging from the crowd his eyes gleaming at the Hufflepuffs around him. "Ced'll want to know!"

"So it begins," Theodore said.

"What?" Harry asked his tall friend.

"Diggory must want to enter the tournament."

"Idiots, the lot of them. I assure you that  _no_  Slytherin would be caught dead putting their name into the running," Draco said with a smugness that Harry was getting far too used to.

After the announcement had been posted, there seemed to have been a marked effect on the students of Hogwarts. No matter where Harry went, there was only one topic of conversation: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts Champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves. Mostly Harry remained silent as everyone talked around him. It was too much energy to bother with when he was heavily fatigued from lack of sleep and the large amount of coursework he was doing.


	7. The Arrival of International School Delegations

When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the Twenty-Eighth of October they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: a gold lion on a red banner, a bronze eagle on a blue one, a black badger on a yellow one, and a silver serpent on a green one. Behind the High Table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: Lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

Mostly Harry was still trying to shake the DADA lesson on the Killing Curse from yesterday. Harry had been politely asked if he might show off his scar, something that his housemates had seen enough of after four years of classes. Harry had, of course, refused. Professor Moody explained that typically no scar appeared when the Killing Curse was cast, that the only way to tell was through magical means that would show that the person's magical vascular system had been completely burned out. Then, Professor Moody demonstrated what he meant on another spider. A small yellowish orb floated above it. After a flash of green light, it landed on its back, legs curled up in death's grip. A grey orb was summoned forth, showing that no light remained within it. Mainly, Harry was hoping they wouldn't actually be practicing it on spiders like they had with the rest.

Post arrived on the noisy wings of owls; Harry looked up from his daze surprised to see Hedwig among them. She swooped down dropping a letter into his hands, before perching on Harry's shoulder. He tore it open and read Hermione's letter. Surprised, he reread it.

"What's  _she_  written to you?" Before Harry could react, Draco tore the parchment from his hands. "Oh, this is  _rich_. She wants you to sponsor her organization, S.P.E.W., in the endeavor to win house-elves the right to freedom and pay. Then there's equally ridiculous long-term goals of allowing them to use a wand and apply for a job within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." He laughed.

"Spew?" Harry parroted.

"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Draco said absently. "You realize this says she expects you to buy a badge to wear in support of her idiotic philosophy. At the very least it's a conflict of interest."

"Not following," Harry said, stirring his scrambled eggs with a spoon.

"You own a house-elf, Harry."

"No, I don't. Dobby's free."

"He  _was_  free, but you agreed to let him serve you until you died, right?"

Harry blinked slowly at Draco. "What, that's not… I don't… Dobby wears clothes!"

"Then he's a free elf serving you without pay or benefits. You should write her back declining her well-thought out invitation." Draco dismissively tossed the letter onto the table next to Harry's plate.

Not even bothering to correct him, Harry sighed and stood up.

"Where're you going?"

"You're clever. Figure it out," he said over his shoulder. Dizzy for a moment from standing too quickly, he staggered over to the Gryffindor table. The Gryffindors mostly ignored him. Harry tried not to notice Ginny's red-orange long hair flipping as she nodded enthusiastically towards Blaise Zabini.

"Hi Harry!" Neville cried out happily.

" _Harry_? It's YOU!" Colin yelled out. Many of the other Gryffindors turned when they heard his name, including Ginny, who Harry steadfastly refused to look at.

 _Oh, that's right_ , Harry thought dumbly. This was one of the many reasons why he'd been avoiding the Gryffindor table. The other Slytherins kept Dennis from pestering Harry, but no one was doing the same with his older brother.

The third year was blocking his path to Hermione, who looked to be locked in heated conversation with Ron. Then Dennis appeared beside his brother, apparently having slipped away from his keepers. Harry endured through the Creeveys' combined hero worship. He allowed Dennis to hug him while Colin took a picture, and then allowed Colin to sidle up on the other side of him while Dennis clung to the other while Neville took another three pictures. When they were finished, Harry felt ridiculous.

"Are we done? I have to talk to Hermione," Harry told them.

"What about one with your brother?" Colin was gripping his camera ecstatically, while Dennis looked up at him with deep adoration and respect.

Neville gave Harry a questioning glance.

"Sure, why not? You have to promise to send us copies." Harry pulled his shoulders back in case Mrs. Longbottom saw the photograph of him slouching and tried not to tense at the carelessly slung arm around his shoulder by Neville. Several flashes later, Harry lightly pushed his brother towards his seat next to Ron and told Colin that that was quite enough.

"Will you sign them later?" The first-year Slytherin said so sweetly and hopefully that Harry just nodded.

At last, he was set free. He pushed past the older Gryffindors loitering by the windows. Some of them smiled at him, obvious fans, while others did not look so friendly. "Hermione, I'd like to buy a SPEW badge."

" _It's not spew it's S. P.—_ Oh, Harry! Sorry," Hermione said with a painful smile. She quickly pulled out a tin that jingled with coins. It took a moment for Harry to pull a Sickle from his pouch and place it through the slot on the top of the tin. "We're having a meeting soon; I'll send you a note as soon as I figure out when that is!"

"Thanks," he told her, sticking the badge onto the front of his robes and returning back to the Slytherin table. He saw Theodore and Sally-Anne, but as usual they didn't look like they wanted to be bothered. Disappointed, he switched directions and retook his seat with a feeling of resignation.

After Draco saw the badge on the front of Harry's robes, he said with a tight expression, "For a wizard who claims he's not interested in dating, you certainly move fast to guarantee Granger's good favor."

Harry picked up a spoon and slurped up the still-warn eggs on his plate. Had he abandoned them momentarily at a Muggle restaurant, they would've been cold and slippery by now. "She's a  _friend_. I'm being supportive."

"Ah. Well. I'm encouraged to see that you've recognized the need for networking …" Draco said more pleasantly. "Though might I suggest that you charm someone with more political edge than a Muggle-born who few like. Someone like Cedric Diggory."

"I'm just helping a friend," Harry insisted.

There was a long-suffering sigh. "House-elves, which I'm sure you know,  _like_  being enslaved. Their unpaid love of labor goes back  _ages_."

"There's no conflict of interest, Draco. Dobby gets paid a Sickle for every day he works at Longbottom Manor."

"…You're not having me on, are you?"

"He hasn't got any benefits yet." Harry grinned when Crabbe and Goyle shot him a perplexed look. "Do you know of any insurance companies that cover house-elves?"

"There are places, which for a tidy sum every month, will insure your house-elf. Should anything accidentally go awry you will be paid a lump sum. However, since house-elves aren't considered to be self-determinant, there exists no law which would hold a contractual agreement such as you desire as viably legitimate." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as if Harry had given him another broken nose like he had their first year. "I can't believe I'm holding this conversation."

Harry laughed.

Later, he enjoyed the following Herbology class, opting to stand with Padma Patil and her friend, Laura Limony. There was something immensely satisfying about a well-transplanted Katzedill's purr, especially considering how sadly Limony's calico-colored, fur-like leafy stalk chirruped in shock. Harry thought she might not have gotten her fertilizer mixed precisely.

"You're very good with plants," Padma said as her plant mewled pitifully from its new spot. Harry thought she had been a little too forceful when she yanked it out of the pot.

Harry drew another finger down his Katzedill's stem, and its purring grew louder. "I maintained the garden outside my childhood home. It was one of the few pleasures I had there." He didn't miss how the grinning witches were watching the rise and fall of his finger. He paused and frowned at them. "What is it?"

They looked furtively towards the other students who were struggling to get their Kaztedill planted. Yowling and hissing filled the air. Patil leaned forward, her oval, soft face smiling. "Are you gay?"

"What?" Harry blinked thinking he heard her wrong. "Sorry I thought I heard you say…"

She and her friend burst into giggles.

He hissed, " _I'm_   _not gay_. Alright?"

"Of course not," Limony stated and then bloody winked, which sent Patil giggling again.

Professor Sprout interrupted whatever Harry was about to say with, " _Very good_ , Mr. Potter. Top marks on your transplanting. You need only read the assignment; I won't require an essay from you this week."

"Thank you, professor." Grabbing his bag, he left the two witches to the Herbologist's sharp critique. He might not find the friends he wanted among the Ravenclaws if that interaction was anything to go by. Merlin's beard, they thought he was gay! They were supposed to be a house of bright wizards and witches. How stupid could you be to think that the Boy Who Lived was  _gay_?

Down in the Potions lab, there was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that Harry was not privy to. While Harry attempted several concoctions of the antidote he'd researched, ruddy Snape seemed far more interested in his potion than the others brewing around him. The Antidote to Billywig Stings wasn't rocket science, but the Potion Master's attention might have been due to the fact that the antidote was standard fare on the O.W.L. Potions exam. In picking the antidote, Harry had not meant to try to impress the professor; he'd only thought about besting Draco.

The quiet conversations—by Slytherins, since any Gryffindor caught talking had house points deducted—were about the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. The arrival which had completely slipped Harry's mind.

When the bell rang for half past five, Harry hurried down the corridor with the other Slytherins. After depositing his bag in the dormitory, he rushed down to the common room where they were being lined up by year by the prefects, who were nitpicking every little detail. He hurriedly cast a Refreshening Charm to remove the odor of the Potions lab from his skin and robes.

"Potter, your hair is terrible," Head Boy Wynch said, "Comb it down!"

"I already did, sir." The other fourth years snickered around Harry, and he shot them an annoyed grimace.

"Wynch, don't bother," Snape said, drawing each word out when the seventh year was about to cast a spell on Harry's messy mop. "Potter's hair is naturally unkempt; it might even qualify as a bloodline effect."

The Head Boy didn't seem thrilled about that, but obediently turned his wand to the next Slytherin, an unfortunate Pike Lestrange, who smelled as if he had only just left a Herbology lesson on fertilizer.

While the prefects moved among the last few scruffy students casting this and that spell to set them to rights, Professor Snape took the steps up to the portrait-hole and stood with his hands held behind his back. He cleared his throat and instantly had their quiet attention. "You are the proud Slytherin representatives of Hogwarts.  _Do not_  bring dishonor to your House and family name by being insufferable twits. Heed your actions and mind your words. You don't want to accidentally start a national war because you seriously offended an Important Person's child, be they child of a King or Minister."

Harry snickered softly, remembering the history lesson where that had actually happened eight centuries ago, and the Slytherin Head of House's gaze immediately fixated on him. Harry dropped his eyes with another grimace. "Sorry, sir."

"Prefects, make sure no one puts a toe out of line. First and second years pair up and walk together. Everyone else; file behind," Snape growled.

Prefect Renshaw flapped his hands at the first and second years who'd been frozen in place staring frightfully at Snape. Only Dennis had followed directions without any issue. "Partner up and get a move on! Stay in line! Honestly, it's not that difficult!"

Soon they were filing down the dungeon's main corridor to the stairs that would carry them up to the Entrance Hall. Other Houses were filing in an orderly fashion out the door, though not as rigidly. Standing beside Slytherin's portrait, Snape observed them all as they left the Hogwarts Castle. The prefects lined the Slytherins in the far right corner of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale gibbous moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Theodore would be leaving tonight for another bout of 'projects' for his apprenticeship. On the right side of Harry was the grassy lawn of Hogwarts. He was standing in the fourth row; in front of him was third-year Van Vaisey, and behind was Ortanto Urquhart. The scenery might have been even more beautiful had it not been disturbed by the chattering of several hundred students.

"How d'you think they're coming?" Goyle asked curiously.

"By train?" Draco said. The exact method of transport had been made strictly confidential for the protection of the international students.

"Could be by broomstick," Harry suggested, enjoying that he could watch the stars peek out from the darkening sky.

Theodore snickered beside him. "You and  _brooms_. Those schools are too far away. It'd make sense if they were Apparating in brief spurts, but we all know that they would be lined up by the gate if that were the case."

They scanned the darkening grounds, but nothing was moving, besides the students and the glinting waters of Black Lake. Harry saw his breath misting in front of him as cold creeped in. At least, it only had a passing resemblance to the dementors.

"You see that?" Theodore murmured. Harry squinted in the dim light, unable to pinpoint what Theodore was talking about.

"See what?" Draco asked.

And then Professor Dumbledore called out from the back where he stood with the other teachers on the steps to enter Hogwarts—"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" Harry heard from many students as they looked around excitedly in different directions.

" _There_!" yelled Prefect Sykes, a sixth-year like Renshaw, and pointed over the Forbidden Forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick—or, indeed a hundred broomsticks—was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years much farther down the line. Harry wasn't sure which House she was from.

"Don't be stupid… it's a flying house!" Dennis Creevey's unmistakable voice shouted out over the panicked voices of the other first years.

Harry thought Dennis' guess was much closer as the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. The lights shining from the castle windows hit it, and they all saw a powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a small house, soaring toward them. It was pulled through the air by seven winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant with glowing fiery orange eyes.

"Cinderella's pumpkin carriage more like," Sally-Anne said through a huff.

"Cinderella-who?" Draco asked.

"Protagonist of a Muggle fairy tale," Bulstrode answered gruffly for Sally-Anne.

Hagrid stood across the sloping lawn far away from the groups of students, waving two great glowing fans in a calm repetitive manner. As the winged horses drew closer, Hagrid bellowed, "Clear th' runway!" Probably to warn anyone who might've been stupid enough to wander into the darkness behind him. Lights magically came to life straight behind Hagrid, illuminating the dewy grass. He dove for the ground as the carriage swooped in for a landing behind the horses. With an almighty crash, the horses' hooves, large as dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its huge wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled their glowing eyes at the hundreds of Hogwarts students watching.

The door of the carriage bore a coat of arms, with two crossed, golden wands each emitting three stars.

"Let's give them a good cheer!" The headmaster said clapping. Everyone joined in, cheering, though no one departed from the carriage. "And now the delegation from Durmstrang!" Dumbledore shouted. Many students looked up to the sky expectantly, but Harry heard a loud and oddly eerie noise drifting toward them from the darkness. A muffled sort of rumbling and sucking sound.

"The lake!" yelled a familiar voice Harry didn't quite place, though he knew he ought to. "Look at the lake!"

From the nearly full moon, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of water—except the surface did not seem very smooth anymore. There looked to be a very small boat sailing at a great speed down the center of it.

"That can't be it…" Harry murmured. And then the small 'ship' rose into the air revealing extensive masts and rigging beneath it. "It's a mast!" He said excitedly to Theodore whose eyes glowed in the moonlight as he bared his teeth into a grin.

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water until its bow gracefully cut through the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. With a loud creaking noise, it bobbed on the turbulent water and glided towards the bank, its great sails unfurling. On the white background was a great red, two-headed eagle, resting on a bough. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows.

"Another good cheer from Hogwarts for the Durmstrang delegation!" Professor Dumbledore said, and the Slytherins, who had been largely quiet at the sight of the blue carriage, gave an immense roaring cheer towards the boat. Harry very nearly fell over from the unexpected noise.

"While they are getting ready to present themselves, let us kindly wait for our guests in the Great Hall," the headmaster said, and the students followed him inside.

The Great Hall had two more tables now, one extra each for the Eagles and the Vipers; they were likely to accommodate their guests. They sat down and chattering erupted. The Slytherins had remained separated by gender; it was the first time that term that Harry had not seen his friends eating with one another.

"Now that we are all settled in, I would like to say a few words. This castle has been your home for the year or years you have stayed at Hogwarts; it will now be hosting delegations of these very special guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. …"

Coming through the door, Argus Filch panted and clutched his chest as he ran down the middle walkway. Once he reached the headmaster he muttered something to Dumbledore and the headmaster nodded. Argus Filch went running back towards the double doors as the headmaster continued, "Everyone please join me in welcoming the lovely lads and ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress, Madam Maxime."

The doors to the Great Hall opened, revealing at least a dozen wizards and witches, all in their late teens. Their powder-blue robes appeared to be made of fine silk, much more form-fitting than the black robes of Hogwarts, and none of them were wearing cloaks despite the chilly weather. Every single one of them had dainty hats on; the witches' hats were thin-brimmed with cutely pointed ends set at an angle, while the wizards' hats were stately, broad-brimmed caps reminiscent of Robin Hood with a single blue feather poking out from the side. The witches curtsied with a gentle sigh, conjuring shimmery blue butterflies from their fingertips, while the wizards quietly flourished bows as they blew kisses towards them that conjured tiny blue hummingbirds.

They ran forward to the front of the Great Hall conjuring birds and butterflies in a synchronized fashion. Reaching the end, they separated to stand at opposite sides of the podium.

Behind them, Madam Maxime was an unnaturally tall woman. Harry had only seen one person close in height to her—Hagrid—and she would have towered even over him if he'd been standing near her. She had a handsome, olive-skinned face with large, black eyes and a rather beaky nose. Her reddish-brown hair was carefully coiffed. She was dressed from head to foot in coppery black satin and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers. Her face was relaxed into a gracious smile as she walked forward after her students.

After two teenagers performed an amazing set of gymnastics in red-trimmed white leotards and bowed, Harry stood up clapping. Draco quickly followed Harry's lead nudging Crabbe and Goyle to stand and clap with him. Not to be outdone, Dennis clapped  _and_  cheered, either ignoring or oblivious to the glares Draco was sending in his direction. The others, not only the Slytherins but the whole hall, joined in.

They watched Madam Maxime extend a glittering hand towards Dumbledore, who though tall himself, barely bent to kiss her knuckles. Then the Beauxbatons delegation walked over to the empty space at the very end of the Ravenclaw tables and remained standing until their Headmistress had taken a spot at the High Table with the rest of the staff.

Professor Dumbledore hopped up the stone steps, raising his hands for silence. "And now our friends from the north… Please greet the proud sons and daughters of Durmstrang and their high master, Igor Karkaroff."

Everyone swiveled their heads to the double doors as they opened ominously. Thick, wooden staffs, topped with carved eagle-heads, pounded against the ground in a choreographed manner. The teenagers were not separated by gender, and they were all built like Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode. Each time the staffs hit the ground, sparks ignited. Together the Durmstrang students swung the staffs around menacingly, their military-style crimson robes, Spartan and close-fitting on their thick frames. The first two students in the line left their staffs on the floor and did one-handed cartwheels to the front, performing something similar to breakdancing in Harry's opinion while the others lined up around them showing their mastery of the staff. Finally, a single, large-framed male teenager stalked in sans staff, wearing a heavy overcoat and a furry hat.

"Blimey, it's him. That's Viktor Krum!" Ron's voice whimpered out into the stunned silence of the Great Hall.

"It's Krum!" Others whispered excitedly, watching the Bulgarian Seeker slouch his way speedily to the front.

Tall and thin like Professor Dumbledore and resplendent in gray and silver furs, High Master Karkaroff carried a staff horizontally over the ground. Beneath his white furry hat, he had gray-white hair and a long goatee that ended in a small curl. He stalked quickly behind the Bulgarian Seeker. Before either he or Krum had reached the front of the Great Hall where the others were, the male and female breakdancers, who were still crouched, blew on the tip of their wands conjuring flame serpents that twisted and roared intimidatingly at the Hogwarts students. The two flame serpents joined as one into the symbol of the two-headed red eagle and then vanished right in front of Dumbledore.

"Albus!" Karkaroff called heartily as he approached the headmaster and gave him a large hug, which Professor Dumbledore returned with a quiet, "Igor." The high master chuckled warmly. "How are you, my dear fellow?"

"Blooming, thank you," Professor Dumbledore replied easily.

Then the high master took a seat at one of two empty chairs at the staff table next to Professor Snape. Meanwhile, Viktor Krum and the other Durmstrang students settled in at the Slytherin table. Wordlessly at Krum's silent pointing, the other Durmstrang students immediately looked up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them picked up the golden plates and goblets, looking impressed. Harry noticed that the large Durmstrang witches had opted to sit with the Slytherin witches.

Professor Dumbledore raised his hands once more. "Good evening, ladies and gentleman," he said beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Harry watched the headmaster sit down. Professor Moody looked as if he was standing guard in the far back right corner of the Great Hall behind the staff table. Karkaroff leaned forward to engage a tight-lipped Snape in conversation. The other Hogwarts staff were seated where they normally preferred.

Then the plates in front of students filled with food. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Harry had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

"…And this is Harry Potter. We watched your stellar performance at the Quidditch World Cup," Draco's voice drawled next to Harry.

He looked across the table. "Sorry, what?"

Viktor Krum grinned at him. "Hyu are ffunny man," he said with a thick accent, chuckling approvingly.

"Er, hi," Harry said awkwardly, "I've read your book."

"Oh?" Krum sounded interested. "Vhat hyu think?"

"Many of the techniques would work well with the Slytherin Quidditch Team's tactics," Harry summarized.

"Hyu are Seeker, yes?"

"When he's not recovering from an attempt on his life," Theodore said lightheartedly, clapping Krum on the shoulder. The Bulgarian Seeker did not seem bothered by the easy contact.

"Theo, dementors would like to suck the souls out of all of us, given half the chance. I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time," Harry said. When Krum seemed to reassess him with admiration, Harry's face flamed. He did not nearly have enough skill in anything to warrant that look.

"Hyu are brave und humble about dementor attack," Krum said simply. He picked up the tankard and raised it. "Toast to success ov Harry Potter und to Slytherins ov Hogwarts!"

The twelve Durmstrang students lifted their tankards and let out three guttural cries, the Slytherins joining in on the second one.

Face burning, Harry wanted to go crawl into a hole somewhere until the Triwizard Tournament was over. He glanced up at the staff table and saw Snape  _smirking_  at him, while High Master Karkaroff smiled with his yellow teeth when he saw Harry looking at them. Harry covered his face and dug his fingers into his unruly hair, mortified.

"Hyur friend, he ffeels unvell?" Krum asked Theodore.

"Oh, yes. He suffers from bouts of embarrassment here and there," the werewolf responded glibly.

Krum slapped the table and howled with laughter. "Good man, very ffunny," he told Harry, pointing a thumb at Theodore.

The werewolf grinned broadly.

"Do you need someone to feed you, Harry?" Draco said wickedly next to him.

"I hate you all," he grumbled behind his hands.

At that moment, an accented voice behind him said, "Excuse me, are 'oo wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

Harry turned in his seat and saw that it was a young lady from Beauxbatons. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes and very white, even teeth, the latter trait reminding him immediately of Lockhart. Her general appearance was of a creamy-pale bean-stalk wearing silk blue robes. Even with the filmy nature of silk, Harry didn't feel his eyes automatically travel over her. "The what?" He said tiredly.

Next to him, Crabbe's face had turned an interesting shade of plum as he stared up at Beauxbatons witch, his mouth gaping open. Nothing came out but a faint, gurgling noise.

"Ze bouillabaisse," she said pointing to the untouched dish of what looked to be shellfish stew.

The easy chatting around Harry had stopped, and he noticed the other male students all along the table were staring. Theodore's mouth was parted and his nostrils were flaring in an unusual manner. Most of the female students were either rolling their eyes or shaking their heads, whispering amongst themselves. Harry looked back to the patient Beauxbatons witch.

"Don't just stare at her, Harry. Give her the bouillabaisse," Draco said prodding his shoulder.

"Right," Harry said, lifting the dish and handing it to her. With a smile and a quiet thank-you, she carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Crabbe was still goggling at her as if he'd never seen a girl before.

"What's the matter with everyone?" Harry asked Draco since he was the only wizard who seemed completely unaffected.

"She's part-veela," he responded promptly.

"They don' make 'em like that at Hogwarts," Crabbe said hoarsely as if his brain had just re-engaged.

"They make them okay here," Harry said without thinking.

Draco nearly snorted his drink everywhere. He cleared his throat. "When you've finished gaping like uncivilized twits, you'll notice that some Ministry officials have brought the Goblet's container in," he said, nodding towards the front.

It looked like a reliquary Harry had once seen in a Catholic church and it stood heads taller than Professor Dumbledore.

Mr. Crouch, the man who had accused Harry of summoning the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, was now sitting on the other side of Professor Karkaroff.

When the second course of food arrived, Harry ate a large plate of treacle pudding, ignoring the unfamiliar desserts. Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Professor Dumbledore stood up. Harry felt the first thrill of excitement at the start of a ceremony which hadn't been seen in half a century. He just as quickly smothered it.

"Your attention, please!" Their headmaster stood next to the tall object, placing a hand on it. "I'd like to say a few words…" He paused for a moment. "Eternal glory. That is what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do this that student must survive three tasks, alone. Three  _extremely dangerous_  tasks."

Harry took a deep breath, imagining that he would merely be a spectator as terrible things happened to  _other_  people. It didn't make the likelihood of that being a vain hope any better.

"For this reason, the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain all this, we have the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mr. Bartemius Crouch." The headmaster gestured to Mr. Crouch who stood up and moved around the High Table towards the reliquary.

Mr. Crouch had a slight twitch to his eyes as he opened his arms invitingly, "After due consideration, the Ministry has concluded that for their own safety no student under the age of seventeen—"

"No way!" A Hogwarts student cried out sounding terribly disappointed.

"—shall be allowed to put forth their name for the—"

"That's not fair!" Someone else cried as Hogwarts students booed lowly.

"—Triwizard Tournament. This decision is  _final_."

"That's rubbish!" Harry saw that it was the Weasley twins raising all the fuss. "That's rubbish! You don't know what you're doing!"

Poor Mr. Crouch looked disappointed with the Hogwarts students as the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang looked towards the Gryffindor table with frowns of consternation.

"SILENCE!" Professor Dumbledore roared. Immediately the Hogwarts students looked uneasily to one another. No one had ever seen the headmaster angry before. At least the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables had kept their wits about them.

The headmaster raised his wand pointing at the very top of the tall, golden object and as he drew his wand down the walls of the container melted fading away upon each level. Inside was a massive, roughly hewn goblet that looked entirely unremarkable. A great blue fire erupted for several feet above it and the headmaster turned towards it respectfully.

"The Goblet of Fire," he announced. "Now, to enforce the Ministry's ruling… I will draw an Age Line to prevent any underage wizard or witch from entering the space around it. Anyone of age wishing to submit themselves to the tournament need only write their name on a piece of parchment and throw it into the flame before this hour, three days from now, on All Hallow's Eve. The goblet will remain here, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. _Do not do so lightly_ ," He warned. "If chosen as a champion, there is no turning back, no leeway for a change of heart, so be very sure that you are wholeheartedly prepared before you drop your name into the fire. As from this moment, the Triwizard Tournament has begun." He smiled in a grandfatherly manner. "Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight and pleasant dreams." The headmaster went to chat with Mr. Crouch.

The Beauxbatons students immediately stood up and followed their headmistress out of the Great Hall. Only a few Hogwarts students began to leave after being dismissed.

"Age Line?" Harry echoed curiously.

"Old magic," Draco answered without complaint, "Invented to prevent needless death of boys in the wars of men."

"Back to the ship, then," a deep voice rumbled behind Harry. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

Krum shook his head at High Master Karkaroff as he pulled his furs back on. He was the only one from Durmstrang besides the Durmstrang high master who had worn them into the Great Hall. Harry wondered if he was feeling unwell.

"Proffessor,  _I_  vood like some vine," one of the other Durmstrang boys said hopefully.

"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," the adult snapped, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy—" Theodore quickly cast a cleaning spell on Poliakoff who looked immensely grateful and murmured something guttural. The Durmstrang high master paused in his turn when his eyes fixed on the scar on Harry's forehead. He probably couldn't see it from the distance of the staff table.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," a growling voice said beside Harry. It was Professor Moody, leaning heavily on his staff, his Magical eye glaring unblinkingly at Professor Karkaroff.

The color drained from the high master's face and a terrible look of mingled fear and fury came over him. "You!" he said, staring at the DADA professor as though unsure he was really seeing him.

"Me," Professor Moody said grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, you'll want to head back to your ship."

Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Professor Moody watched the wizard until he was out of sight, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face.

It made Harry wonder what sort of history there was between the two of them. Snape had been quite friendly with Karkaroff. Well, as friendly as the greasy-haired bastard got. If Durmstrang was known for its teaching of Dark Arts, then it would make sense if the high master was a powerful Dark wizard himself and explained why Professor Moody hated Karkaroff.

Harry thought it would be a bit premature to follow the adage that 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' where Karkaroff was concerned. For all the Slytherin knew, the wizard could be a Death Eater.

As the next day was Saturday, most students would eat later in the morning. Harry was the exception, since he was always up far before the sun rose. When he cleaned himself up after the morning jog with Neville, he went to the Great Hall with Sally-Anne who'd been waiting in the common room. Theodore had been spirited away in the middle of the night.

In the Great Hall, he saw the usual decorations of live bats and carved pumpkins this close to Halloween and also twenty people milling around the Goblet of Fire, which now had a thick, translucent line hovering a foot off the ground around it. The goblet was still in front of the headmaster's chair at the front of the Great Hall.

"Anyone put their name in yet?" Sally-Anne asked the nearest person to her.

"All the Durmstrang students," Luna Lovegood replied airily, twirling her blonde hair between her long, dainty fingers. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet. They're shy, I think, sneaking in like the Nargles do at night…"

Sally-Anne nodded. "I wouldn't have wanted everyone watching if it were me."

Several students were clapping while the two sat down at the Slytherin table to eat. Harry looked up to see that a Gryffindor had just put his name in the Goblet of Fire. He supposed that the more outgoing types would make a show of submitting their names.

"C'mon, Cedric!" A male teenager said boisterously on one side of the Hufflepuff.

"Put it in!" Another on the other side of Diggory encouraged as they both shoved him off towards the Age Line.

Passing through the filmy line of magic, Cedric reached up and flicked his paper into it. He rejoined his friends who cheered and clapped for him.

Harry watched between mouthfuls of toast and sausage.

"Look at them," Sally-Anne said between bites. "They don't even look like they know how serious entering the Triwizard Tournament is. Blithe idiots…" She huffed. "Theo really wanted to put his name in, which is probably why Mr. Nott took him away early. Age Lines aren't impossible to circumvent, you know." When Harry frowned, she waved a hand dismissively. "Not saying he wouldn't do well as a champion. It would have been awfully inconvenient if one of the Tasks happened on a certain night, and when it comes to events like these..." Sally-Anne's brown eyes took on a vacant quality as if she were seeing something else. She shook her head as if to banish a thought. Then her eyes met his. "Harry, there's something I've been meaning to—"

A roar of glee came from the double doors and two identical redheads came tearing down the center of the tables, high-fiving one another and thanking their adoring fans. In their hands, they were showing off identical vials of some unknown potion. "Well, lads, we've done it!"

"Just cooked it up this morning," the other announced proudly.

"It's not going to wo-ork," Hermione said in a sing-song voice, a book open on the Gryffindor table in front of her.

Downing another plateful of eggs, Sally-Anne's words were forgotten as Harry watched the Weasley twins immediately sidle up on either side of Hermione. She looked completely unintimidated by their close proximity.

"Oh, yeah?"

"And why is that, Granger?"

Hermione pointed smugly at the Age Line and gestured in a circular motion. "You see this? It's an Age Line. Dumbledore drew it himself."

"So…?"

She scoffed at the twin who'd spoken. " _So_ ," she said forcefully, "A genius like Dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by a dodge as pathetically dim-witted as an  _Aging Potion_."

"Hah! But that's why it's so brilliant!"

"Because it's so pathetically  _dim-witted_."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head with an exasperated sigh.

Harry watched the two Weasleys vigorously shake the test tubes in their hands.

"Ready, Fred?"

"Ready, George."

"Bottom's up!" They said together tossing the contents back.

Fascinated by their sheer nerve, Harry saw them each pull out a slip of parchment from their pockets. Then they simply hopped into the circle together.

For a split second, Harry thought it had worked—George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph upon landing, and Fred joined him in cheering for their success—and they dropped the bit of parchment into the Goblet of Fire.

Unfortunately, blue fire sprung out of it in forked tongues, startling the crowd around them and then the two redheads were hurtled out of the circle of light as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. The Weasley twins landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor.

Sally-Anne made a sympathetic noise beside Harry. "What were you going to say?" He asked, half-distracted by the sight of identical, long white beards that the twins had sprouted from their chins. Slips of smoking parchment floated out of the Goblet of fire and landed on top of them, while the Great Hall rang with laughter.

"You said!"

" _You_  said!"

The two boys grappled with one another on the floor, tussling in a comical manner.

Skipping over Sally-Anne's silence, Harry chortled and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. The crowd of spectators suddenly began to chant, "Fight, Fight, Fight!" as the Weasley twins tussled like two playful dogs.

"Oh, right, you want a piece of me!"

"I'll tear your ears off!"

"Oh, now, you're making me laugh!  _My ears,_ George? Really!?"

"Take this!" George giggled maniacally. "Come on, Fred! We're  _old_  school, get it?"

"I  _really_ can't take this fight seriously when you're  _pun_ ny. Get it? _Pun_ -ny?!"

"I did warn you," a deeply amused voice said, and the hall fell silent. Every student's head turned to see Professor Dumbledore stroll into the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go see Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett of Ravenclaw and Mr. Summers of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves a little too. Though I must say," and Professor Dumbledore stroked his long beard, "Neither of their beards look anything as fine as yours."

Fred and George got to their feet, bowing to the headmaster. "Of course, yours is the finest beard of them all, headmaster!"

The elderly wizard beamed, and the Weasley twins, accompanied with another Gryffindor, set off for the hospital wing, all of them howling with laughter. Professor Dumbledore took a seat at the staff table and began his breakfast. Ever watchful, Professor Moody remained leaning against the corner, now and then taking deep drinks from his flask.

Eyes flicking back to the Goblet of Fire, Harry was just in time to see Cassius Warrington, one of the Slytherin Chasers, put his name in. Harry clapped when no one else did, and the thickset Warrington sent him a smile.

Angelina Johnson, a Gryffindor Chaser, also hopped up to it and added her name to a roar of congratulatory applause. She smiled happily and rejoined her friends again.

A hush fell among the Great Hall, when the students from Beauxbatons entered the Great Hall and headed straight for the Goblet of Fire. Madam Maxime stood behind them, observing. One by one, each of them stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue fire. When the twelve students had finished, Madam Maxime led them to the Ravenclaw table. She continued on to the staff table and took a seat. Once she had, the rest of the Beauxbatons students sat as well. Harry was unpleasantly reminded of his lessons in manners with Mrs. Longbottom.

As soon as Harry finished breakfast, he hurried back to the dormitories to work on his assignments. Maybe he would get a little bit farther in the book about puberty as well before the rest of his roommates woke up.

The weekend dragged on. Most spent their time watching others drop slips of parchment into the Goblet of Fire. Bored by that, Harry opted to go to the library to discover how someone could possibly be divining present moments in their sleep. He strongly suspected that it had to do with his survival of the Killing Curse. So far he learned from the books that it was called magical entanglement. These entanglements were deliberate, like the Unbreakable Vow, but Harry wanted to know if others had ever gotten entangled magically with another person due to improper spellcasting or some other freak occurrence.

His search only came up with a few hits, considering that he could not look in the Restricted Section. One had to be naturally vulnerable like young children or open to another's magic either willingly or through magical means in order for something like Harry's experience to occur. Usually, the unfortunate victim would be reduced to mad gibbering, or left to compulsively repeat every word of the connected person even outside of hearing, or effectively be like a house-elf catering to the assailant's every whim.

Harry shivered. He counted himself very lucky that he only had effects in certain instances—such as uncontrollably using Dark magic when he was angry, the emotional state Voldemort must've been in when he attempted to kill Harry. Also, Harry would involuntarily become accosted by visions while asleep, the time which Harry must be most vulnerable. Now he wanted to know if there was a way to protect himself as he slept. Tired from the influx of information, he laid his head down for a moment to think…

"Harry?"

Starting from a dreamless nap, he wiped the cold drool from his face, adjusted his glasses, and looked up at Sally-Anne's worried face. He shut the book, which he thought might help him, but had found nothing of use in it. He'd have to go ask Salazar Slytherin for assistance. Better yet, he'd try to glean from the Founder exactly how he'd come to this state of entanglement with Voldemort instead of dying properly. He had to wonder how the evil wizard had made such a colossal mistake. "Yes?"

She shifted. "The prefects were looking for you. Apparently, you've detention with Snape, Wednesday night, seven-thirty."

He rubbed his eyes free of grit so he could better focus on the large clock hanging on the pillar, instead of her curves. The time was far past lunch. "Bollocks," Harry groused.

"What've you been studying all this time? Transfigurations?" She walked on the other side of him and read the title, which had nothing to do with the assumed subject. "Not sleeping well?"

Harry shrugged. "I do alright most nights."

The witch dug into her robes and pulled out a vial of clear fluid. "It's a simple Sleeping Draught. Nothing as strong as Dreamless Sleep, but it helps me… when I worry too much." She set it on the table next to him.

"…About Theo?" Harry picked up the vial, noticing on closer inspection that the fluid within seemed a bit gelatinous.

"Yes." Sally-Anne took a small breath, appearing to check whatever she had been about to say. "….You can have that if you want."

"Thanks." He pocketed it without deciding whether he would use it or not. "Why aren't you two dating yet?"

"Um." Her pale, freckled cheeks blushed. "Because he said no."

Harry blinked at her. "You asked him out?"

"Of course, I did," she snapped. "Did you think I was going to wait and see if he'd notice me?"

"Oh…" He thought that was strange that Theodore would turn her down when the werewolf looked like he very much enjoyed her company.

"You're wondering why he would turn me down."

"A bit, yeah."

"He said he wants me to date others first in case I'm happier with them—which is  _silly_. I've dated here and there before him, but I guess he never noticed. And the couple of dates this year… No one holds my attention, not like he does." She tilted her head back a little as she squinted up at the tall stacks with a long sigh. His eyes automatically looked up at what she was looking at, but Harry didn't see anything strange.

With a small shake of her head, Sally-Anne pulled out a chair next to him and sat down, her brown eyes dark with secrets. "I've been meaning to catch you by yourself since Friday to tell you, Harry…"

She sounded as if she might have the world on her shoulders. "What've you been trying to tell me?"

"Whatever happens during the Naming Ceremony…" She looked down at the legs of the solid wooden chair. Harry followed her gaze a bit confused.

Sally-Anne took a deep breath and let it out. "Know that you'll be alright, Harry."

Harry felt his lips curl and then he chuckled. "That certainly doesn't sound ominous at all."

"I know. I'm sorry I haven't any better news than that."

"You dreamt something bad will happen tomorrow night…?"

"Nothing  _bad_  is going to happen. Nobody dies for one." Sally-Anne turned away, her shoulders tense. "It's just… I didn't want you going into that blind."

"I'd rather a clearer warning than that vague monstrosity."

She held her breath a touch, peering at him furtively over her hunched shoulder. Her lips thinned as if she was debating whether to tell him or not. "…I saw your name come out of the Goblet of Fire."

 _'If chosen as a champion, there is no turning back, no leeway for a change of heart…'_  The unpleasant feeling of future detention was swept away by the floor seeming to open up beneath him. Harry stood up, the chair screeching in complaint. Madam Pince's loud shush echoed through the mostly empty library. Vertigo threatened to throw him to the floor. "It's got to be a mistake. This isn't a horrid joke, is it?"

Her shoulder-length hair swayed as she shook it with a pensive, drawn face. "I'm sorry, Harry. I really wish it was only a bad dream."

"I'm too young."

"I know."

He bit back the hysterical laughter clawing up his throat. None of the people in charge could protect him properly at Hogwarts, could they? "Did you also happen to see who put it in?"

"No. It doesn't work like that. I'm lucky that I even saw that much."

" _Great_." Harry angrily shoved the book aside, snatching up his notes and thrusting them into his bag. A thought wound through his mind.  _Maybe it wouldn't happen… maybe her dreams didn't always come true…?_  He took another breath, hope blooming. Calm seeped into him. "What are the chances of the dream  _not_ happening?"

A look of sadness—no, it was much worse— _despair_  came over her face. "I'm sorry, Harry."

The nausea coming back full force, Harry threw his satchel over his shoulder. "Never been wrong then." She stood up, looking very uncertain. "I'm not mad at you. In fact, I want to thank you for telling me."

Brown eyes looked so hopeful and so wet. She wiped at them. "I couldn't  _not_  tell you."

"…You were sure I was going to be alright though."

"You'll make it through the trials of fire, water, and wood." Sally-Anne flexed her fingers ineffectually next to her sides. "All the champions will."

"At least that's something," Harry agreed. They both startled when someone whispered 'Hey!' towards them. It looked to be a large stack of books with fingers at the bottom and bushy hair sticking out the sides. Harry relaxed. "Hullo, Hermione. You gave us a bit of a scare."

As they watched, books obediently floated to their right spot on the shelf as soon as the Gryffindor released them. Harry wondered if they all had a charm on them to make re-shelving easier on Madam Pince.

Hermione leaned out from behind her stack, grinning. Her front teeth seemed a bit smaller than Harry remembered. "I've volunteered to help Madam Pince out. Do either of you need help with anything?"

"Er, no."

Sally-Anne shook her head, her solemn look not yet disappearing. "We've got it covered, Hermione. Thanks for the offer."

"Alright then," she sounded disappointed but moved past them as she put books away.

Harry left the library deep in thought, Sally-Anne walking with him by his side. It was only when she called out to him that Harry realized he'd turned down the corridor which led to Slytherin's Personal Study. He almost lied to her, but chose not to since she'd been brave enough to tell him what she foresaw. "I'm meeting with Salazar Slytherin in his personal study."

"Can I come?" She had an intense curious look upon her features, but considering the questions that Harry wanted to ask the painting he couldn't let her. Before he could deny her, Sally-Anne nodded cheerfully. "Perhaps later."

"Yeah."

"Don't forget dinner."

"I won't," he promised.

Not looking bothered by being refused, Sally-Anne lightly turned on her foot and calmly walked down the corridor towards the conventional entrance into the Slytherin House. Before long, Harry was at the dead-end of a long corridor. Any other time he wouldn't have brushed her off, but today he was going to ask highly dubious questions of the painting. He murmured the needed phrase to the wall and then he went across the stone floor, skirting around the magnificent rug of the basilisk, to stand before Salazar Slytherin's painting. "Mr. Slytherin. Wess haal."

"And hello to you, young Potter." Long-nailed fingers steepled in front of him. "I sense urgency from you today."

"I need to know…  _why_  I'm magically entangled with Lord Vole. And don't tell me we aren't. My scar resonates with him! Bleeding when he's near and giving me visions whenever he uses an Unforgivable in my sleep."

Stern, forest green eyes looked at him. "Why…? Because he is a learned fool. He assumed that the Killing Curse killed effectively without any side effects to the caster. In his arrogance, he failed to recognize that the Dark Arts he so steeped himself in charged his wand and his already damaged soul for precisely the sort of result you are."

"And  _what_  result am I?"

The Founder closed his eyes and stroked his beard, a scowl deepening on his face. "Last year, you said a sixteen-year-old Lord Vole of Death appeared before you in your second year at Hogwarts… that this person was commanding Jinara."

"Yes, but he was destroyed when the journal was sliced through with a Basilisk fang."

"…Hm." The bald-headed wizard nodded. "And did this apparition of Tom Riddle seem abnormally fixated on you as if he had met a long-lost friend?"

Remembering the strange sense he had of the journal, Harry narrowed his eyes at the painting. That's when it hit him like a bolt of lightning. ' _You and I share pieces of the same soul, Boy.'_ Voldemort hadn't been lying then, had he? Harry wasn't a freak occurrence who'd survived the Killing Curse. He was a freak of nature created with a bit of someone's Dark soul occasionally taking over his body to perform magic he didn't know. "I'm like that journal…? I've… I've got a…"

"You don't need me to confirm what you already know," came the grave response.

Little wonder that the Healers couldn't recognize the 'foreign object' when they found it. How often had they had a chance to see a soul-shard get lodged into a person's MVS? A flash of a purple jagged scar glowing on a black leather journal sprang to Harry's mind; he remembered how Draco had cast a series of Reveal-spells on it, trying to learn its secrets. For a moment, Harry had the absurd thought of his scar glowing purple. "You aren't going to tell me anything else, are you? Like how I'm going to get rid of it."

The Founder looked at him stonily. "Young Potter, should the soul-wound be tampered with… I believe your situation will worsen."

"I am  _not_ keeping a piece of someone's evil soul in me! If you won't help, I'll figure it on my own." Harry spun on his heel, his Spellfast cloak twisting against him.

"Potter."

Harry paused. What could the painting possibly say to him?

"Within you, there currently exists a tenuous balance."

He looked back over his shoulder, turning until he faced the Founder once again.

"Should you meddle with it, you may inadvertently bring about your own destruction."

"If I die, then I will have died thirteen years after I was meant to," Harry said sharply.

"It's true your magical core could collapse upon itself, snuffing out your life..." The portrait's features softened into a look of sorrow. Harry grew uncomfortable at the stare and so turned away. "But Death would be a small mercy compared to that which is likelier." There was a long pause as the green eyes became flinty as they fixed upon his scar. "Once the balance is disrupted, the Dark presence could take control and wear your body as if it were its own…"

"Then I should give up? I should let—"

"No. I ask for patience. If it could have been excised, the Healers who cared for you as a babe would have done so. At present, your magic has neither fully matured in skill nor control. To even attempt what you seek at this juncture is irresponsibly reckless."

"I can't sit by and do nothing!" Harry blurted out, his frustration at the knowledge of another terrible year at Hogwarts no longer suppressed. "That's worse than giving up!"

"Then—"

"Thank you for your time, but I'll manage it on my own!" Without waiting for a response, he stormed out, feeling a sick sort of bitterness well up within him. This was worse than Lycanthropy. He was infected with a piece of bloody Voldemort himself, and with it mad genius and probable destruction. The thought of harnessing its power seemed unlikely at best and dangerously volatile at worst. It was certain he could make himself angry enough to have the soul-shard react to whatever stimuli Harry had fixated on, but Harry did not think he could learn to control it nor did he want it growing aware of its position of strength within him. The thought of a piece of Voldemort taking him over scared him worse than even dementors. He wanted it  _out_. Gruesome images flickered through his mind; most of them where his corpse was discovered by his friends. His low anger fizzled out. He didn't want to die, not really. He'd worked hard to live this long it seemed stupid to let it go because of bullheadedness.

He sucked in a deep breath and wondered fleetingly if Occlumency would help. Latching onto that idea, he scrolled through his options before abandoning it again. Three people he knew could teach Occlumency, one of which had taught him next to nothing over the summer. Harry could neither trust the headmaster nor Snape to rummage around his head with information as dangerous as this lying about, not to mention what they would do if they discovered he had the knowledge to cast two of the three Unforgivables. Obviously, Mad-Eye Moody would be fired, but Harry would be reprimanded by the headmaster because Harry should have refused to learn them on principle. The greasy-haired bastard would make some quip about his morals not being as strong and noble as he pretended they were, even if Harry had only performed each spell once.

Harry felt queasy. He had always been great at keeping secrets, but bad at using them. Now the whole enterprise seemed too convoluted to make sense of. He needed someone who was cunning and wasn't bloody Draco. Harry would've written to Theodore if he wasn't getting hairy in a day or so, and Sally-Anne, while bright and crafty, was already stressed without Harry adding to it.

He shook his head. No, he needed someone who had knowledge of those who were Legilimens and Occlumens…  _"Tempus_."

Numbers glittered in the dimness of the torches lighting the dungeons before fading away.

Dinner would be served shortly, and Harry was not about to be late for it. Mind centered on his trusty cupboard, Harry entered the Great Hall with the eyesore of a flaming goblet sitting before the staff table. He stopped by Daphne, who'd been speaking to Tracey over a book the other witch held in her hands one on Muggle folklore of the Americas. He noticed that the massive Durmstrang witches were looking at him coolly. "Daphne."

Green eyes fluttered curiously when he didn't say a word more, and then she stood up. Ignoring the whispers, she led them through the great double doors to the Entrance Hall to the privacy that Harry wanted.

As soon as they exited the Great Hall, Harry cast a silencing ward over them. "I need an Occlumency tutor. One that's trustworthy and knows how to keep their lips buttoned. Money is no object. Have any suggestions?"

That question was obviously not what she'd been expecting as she blinked at him. " _Oh_ … That would be a question better asked of Draco."

"You can't say you've  _heard_  of anyone?"

Her face reddened, and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Harry. I've heard of several, but their reputations do not make them recommendable." When her eyes bored into his, he could finally feel a niggling sensation, though it was much softer than Snape's. "Though I can see why you'd need one…"

Looking away, Harry ran a hand over his face. "Alright. If you could ask around that'd be great. Try to be discreet about it?"

"Certainly, your Grace." Daphne took a step closer. "And I won't tell anyone about the entanglement. Not even my closest friends."

Harry refused to look at her or show any other signs of how unnerved he was by her calm manner about the soul-shard. "Thanks." He raised his wand to cancel the ward, but she held up a hand. He frowned at her.

"They're all wondering why you've called me out here," she stated.

"Hell's bells." Harry rubbed his forehead. "Right, say that I asked you out and you turned me down."

"And why would I turn you down?" Daphne grinned so broadly that a small dimple appeared on the right side of her face. Unease melting away, Harry had a strong suspicion she already knew what kind of effect her smile had on wizards. He glanced away before he started to imagine her naked. Completely unbidden that triggered a cascade of related imagery he really would have preferred not have happen while he was standing right next to a natural Legilimens.

Grasping frantically at his previous train of thought, he looked at the empty painting on the wall where a bald-headed Founder usually stood. "Because you like someone else…? I don't know. Make something up."

"And why would you suddenly ask me out?"

That puzzled Harry. "Because that's what wizards who need a date to the Yule Ball do…" He frowned. "Why does the motivation even matter?"

Daphne chortled. "I'll take care of the gossip, though I think you may come to regret it."

"Wait, I don't want to 'regret' anything."

"Then, I guess you want everyone to know how defenseless your mind is to Legilimency?"

"No, that's exactly what I want to avoid."

"Or we could be dating instead?"

"I don't want to date when I know for a fact that Lord Vole is planning to do something to me this year."

Daphne's black eyebrow lifted and then dropped. She gave a small smile as if she knew all of his secrets, and maybe she might. "Then your pride will have to deal with the blow." With a flick of her wand, she took down the ward and strolled back into the Great Hall before Harry could get another word in.

Harry let out a breath he'd been unconsciously holding and re-entered the hall to eat his meal. He ignored Draco's barbed questions about Daphne and was full after finishing a plate.

The next morning, Harry felt quite refreshed. The Sleeping Draught had worked. He finished breakfast without feeling the slightest bit annoyed by Draco, and headed to Arithmancy with a cheerful Hermione and a short-tempered Sally-Anne. While Hermione asked Sally-Anne what was wrong, Harry went ahead of them to give them some privacy. He expected that the Divination students would skive class to watch the boring procession of Hogwarts students willing to gamble their lives for glory and Galleons. That is, if Professor McGonagall didn't shoo all of them to class.

The classes of the day were over too quickly in Harry's humble opinion. It was now precisely an hour before six, and the Great Hall was teeming with students. Harry glanced over to the Gryffindor table to see that the noisy Weasley twins were once again clean-shaven and leaning on one another's shoulders in good spirits. Harry was trying not to show the agitation or anxiety he felt. Since someone had already put his name in the Goblet of Fire, there wasn't anything he could do to prevent his name coming out.

"You heard about Warrington?" Draco said quietly.

"I saw him put his name in Saturday morning," Harry answered.

Draco smacked his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me, you lout! Do you know how long it's been that Slytherin's had a champion?"

"Four hundred years…?"  _Though that streak will end tonight_ , Harry thought grimly.

"Exactly. I hope he's chosen. It's about time the Slytherin House won the Triwizard Tournament."

"I thought no one's mad enough to try?" Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

Draco snorted derisively. "So far, only Warrington was."

Viktor Krum made several jibes about the Slytherin House having only a sole contributor, but none of the Vipers were in an uproar about it. It was Pike Lestrange who quietly explained to the Bulgarian Seeker why that was, and then the larger wizard shut up about it after solemnly offering a toast.

The Halloween feast had seemed to be much shorter than usual. Harry hadn't fancied the extravagantly prepared feast as they'd supped on every night since Friday evening; he hardly touched much of tonight's. He grew apprehensive as the time slid inexorably closer to six. Judging by the constantly craning necks, the fidgeting, and impatient expressions on every face, Harry felt he was the only one dreading the naming of champions, until he glanced down the table. Sally-Anne had barely eaten anything, opting to mash the food and push it around until the gravy turned the mass into slurry.

The bell tolled six o'clock in the distance. All the food and dishware disappeared from the tables. Nobody complained; many didn't even notice.

"Sit down, please," Professor Dumbledore said, and everyone who was standing found a place to sit. "Now the moment you've all been waiting for: The champion selection ceremony." He raised his right hand and wandlessly, nonverbally extinguished the flames of the candles and sconces of fire, plunging them into semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire glowed a mysterious blue, shining brighter than anything else in the Great Hall. Silently, everyone watched and waited. The trepidation was filling Harry more fully now. His instinct told him to run, but he forced himself to stay seated. It would be over shortly.

Professor Dumbledore placed his hands beseechingly against the side of the Goblet of Fire and then drew away, his wand-hand open and waiting.

The flames inside the goblet transitioned from blue to vibrant magenta red. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it. The headmaster snatched it out of the air. "The Durmstrang champion is Viktor Krum."

The Durmstrang and Slytherin students roared with approval as Krum stepped up in his usual slouched posture and shook hands with Professor Dumbledore.

"Bravo, Viktor!" High Master Karkaroff boomed so loudly that everyone could hear him over the applause.

The Durmstrang champion went behind the staff table and then disappeared through the door behind it.

The clapping died down, and a few seconds later the fire above the goblet turned red once more. A second piece of parchment, this time pleated, smoked in the headmaster's hand.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"

The girl who was suspected to be part-veela shook her sheet of silvery blonde hair, pursing her lips to try to keep from smiling too broadly. She swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Sobbing reached Harry's ears and he looked over and saw that two girls and three boys who had not been selected had dissolved into tears. He thought that was rather peculiar. He would not have been upset, personally.

Delacour shook hands with Professor Dumbledore and then disappeared into the side chamber behind the staff table. This time, when silence fell again, it was so stiff with excitement that Harry could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion was all that was left to be chosen. Harry forced himself to breathe evenly, his hands clenched against the long table.

The fire turned red and sparks showered out of it. The parchment fluttered out and the headmaster once again snapped it out of the air.

Without looking particularly put-out, Professor Dumbledore took a moment to read the name. "The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"

A roar of congratulations and encouragements sprang from the Hufflepuff tables; many of them jumped up stamping their feet and screaming happily, while everyone else clapped. Cedric high-fived many of his housemates and then shook hands with the headmaster before heading into the side chamber behind the staff table.

Confused but exceedingly relieved of the burden, Harry was clapping so hard that his hands hurt. His heart was slowing from the anxious beating it'd started. He looked down the table to see Sally-Anne, still as a marble statue, her face drained of color. Clapping politely, a worried Pansy was leaning next to her ear. Sally-Anne didn't lift her eyes from the table, but the noise around her didn't seem to register. Unease was settling deep within Harry's belly, his immense relief stunted mid-bloom. Draco was asking him whatever was the matter with him, but Harry hardly heard him as the headmaster addressed the hall.

"Excellent!" Professor Dumbledore roared over the applause. "We now have our three champions!" He stepped across the length of the Great Hall, looking at the spread of students. "But in the end, only one will go down in history. Only one will hoist this chalice of champions…"

Mr. Crouch brought something covered into the Great Hall from the door behind the staff table, setting the object on a stool before the headmaster's empty chair.

"This vessel of victory, the Triwizard Cup!" The headmaster pointed at the covering, and it flew off the object. An enormous double-handed hexagonal cup sat, glowing with the same mysterious blue light as the Goblet of Fire. It had what looked like silver serpents for handles and intricate etchings in the clear crystal sides of it.

The Great Hall roared with the students' approval, excluding Harry's because the sinking feeling was back. And then his attention focused on Professor Snape, who had tilted his head with a look of concern as he stepped forth from his position near the Triwizard Cup. Professor Dumbledore, seeing this look upon the Potions Master's face, spun around to see that the Goblet of Fire was sparking once more.

Harry's stomach plummeted.  _Please have nothing to do with me_ , he begged whatever gods or fates were listening as a distressed look crossed the headmaster's face. Harry had the sudden urge to jump from his seat and run from the Great Hall.

 _'You'll make it through the trials of fire, water, and wood. All the champions will.'_ But Sally-Anne hadn't seen that there were  _four_ of them, had she?

The cheering and clapping died off and silence once again reigned in the hall as Professor Dumbledore steadily approached the Goblet of Fire. The fire had just turned red again, angry sparks were flying out of it, and then a long flame shot out of it and borne upon it a single smoldering piece of paper.

When the headmaster grabbed it and looked at it, for an instant he looked as if he might sick on the floor. Harry squeezed his robes with tight fists as his heart hammered in his ears, knowing what was to come.

"Harry Potter…"


	8. The Reluctant Champion

"Harry Potter…" The headmaster murmured again after a long pause. The students from the other Houses were looking along the Slytherin Table. Without thinking, Harry automatically shrunk behind Crabbe's frame to stay out of view.

"No," the half-giant said aloud, his voice cracking, "Not Harry." All false bravado fled from Harry at the broken tone. Hagrid didn't believe he could do this.

Harry's body would not unbend from its position. He didn't want to go up there. He looked at his expectant housemates and the solemn-faced Durmstrang students who stared at him unwaveringly, too stunned to feel betrayed yet. Only Sally-Anne stood out, since she was staring quite fixed at the grains of the long table trapped beneath years of varnish.

"Harry," Draco whispered, "Go up there."

" _No,_ " he hissed quietly into the dismally silent hall.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat, his expression much more neutral than before. "Harry…?" He looked directly towards the Slytherin in question, who slid off his bench and sunk to the floor silently. The teenager wished he hadn't come back to Hogwarts this year, wished he'd listened to the suggestion about paying for private tutors. His mind wriggled in an uncomfortable manner. He thought he'd be okay with being a champion. He thought he might act casual as he walked out in front of everyone, but the reality was that his stomach was in knots, his palms were sweaty, and he was struggling to breathe evenly.

"Remember," Sally-Anne said softly as she placed a hand on his shoulder, "You'll survive the tasks. I swear it." Her small voice seemed to be swallowed up by the unnatural quiet where the hollow sound of the Goblet's flame echoed. Even when everyone had been asleep last year, it had never been so still.

Ice gripped his belly, and he shrugged her warm hand from his shoulder, still crouched. He wouldn't meet her eyes. He was surprised that the headmaster hadn't started to yell yet.

"Your Grace," Draco murmured, crouched on the other side of him.

"I won't be made to do something I'm not responsible for," he said quietly. "Besides, Hogwarts already has its champion. It has to be a mistake."

With an annoyed cluck, Draco grabbed the front of his robes and forced him to his feet. Hundreds of pairs of eyes immediately focused upon Harry, making him feel at risk of attack. The headmaster was waiting patiently, possibly considering the anomaly of a fourth champion. Harry thought the adult should've been angrier, but he simply stood there, while the whispering intensified in the Great Hall.

The prat calmly adjusted Harry's tie and his glasses in a likely attempt to make him look more presentable. "No more excuses. Go." Harry was shoved forward. He stumbled regaining his footing by steadying himself against the cool stone wall of Hogwarts. Shocked by Draco's cool composure, Harry's mind had emptied of any thoughts that might have helped distract him from the whispers. His housemates' expressions were blank all along the long table, their feelings hidden from the public eye.

"I believe in you, Harry!" The self-proclaimed friend of a first year sent a bright smile, appearing determined to have a brave face for him. The smile Harry attempted to return to Dennis was a grimace. Numbly, Harry continued forward, pushing through the quagmire of self-doubt and alarm. He hardly trusted his feet to carry him, but his strides were growing more confident and brisk.

Standing before the Goblet of Fire, the unruffled Professor Dumbledore was looking at him with a very severe expression; only his blue eyes minutely became more forgiving after they met Harry's. The parchment was still smoking in his wizened hand. As soon as Harry had gotten within arm's reach of the headmaster, the burnt piece of lined Muggle paper was presented to him, and he took it. He recognized his own handwriting; it was  _years_  old, written with a Muggle ballpoint pen,  _very different from the slip that his name had been inked on_ —He jerked his head up in surprise, confused.

Professor Dumbledore nodded grimly and gestured to the side chamber, and Harry began towards the staff table. He was growing exceedingly dizzy by the moment. He had to remind himself that air was necessary to keep from emptying the contents of his stomach on the floor or fainting in a humiliating manner in front of Ministry officials and foreign dignitaries.

"He's a cheat!" Someone cried out.

"He's not even seventeen yet!" The Weasley twins, Harry's mind identified without turning around.

Half a breath later came the defense from the other side of the hall, "As if the opinions of two longstanding losers matter!" Harry thought that might've been lobbed by Pansy. He didn't dare look now since that insult had sparked a deluge of offensive descriptions and swear words, many of them aimed at Harry's underhanded entry.

"That is ENOUGH!" The command came from Professor McGonagall, unsurprising since the roar of noise was coming from her House. The noise dropped to a low angry buzz.

Professor Snape gave Harry an unreadable look down his nose at the end of the staff table, and the sharp jab of nonverbal Legilimency made itself known.

"Git," Harry muttered and deliberately looked down at the floor again, hating that he'd been ensnared into participating in some ridiculous death tournament. He stumbled up the three steps, noticing how the niggling feeling remained. His ears were still ringing with the yells of foul play as he walked around a depressed Hagrid and other professors. He feebly thought of his cupboard, and the sensation of his mind being raked over fell away. The adults were staring at him with pitying looks up and down the staff table, except Mr. Crouch who was looking at him suspiciously. Only Professor Moody appeared unsurprised by the strange turn of events. As Harry passed by him, the professor tapped—brushed down—his front left pocket where he kept his chalk. To anyone else, it would look natural; an unsuspicious movement with no meaning.

Harry's mouth wouldn't come undone as dawning comprehension filtered through the gauze of numbness. Rage was beginning to gnaw at his gut. If he allowed it to fester, the soul-shard might kill Mad-Eye Moody on the spot. Turning away half a second later, he continued into the side chamber like the rest of the champions before him. As soon as he passed through the archway, the deafening roar of voices all demanding answers of the headmaster rose like a high tide.

The walls of the descending staircase seemed to absorb the noise like gauze wound over his ears. There were animated paintings whispering to one another when they saw him. He dangerously teetered down the steps to the next room, and the cast-iron wrought gates opened for him. He heard distinct yelling behind him, reminding him of the Dursleys. The adults were arguing, Harry was in so much trouble, and all because of a grown wizard's grudge against him for something he didn't even do.

Before Harry were the three true champions, standing in front of a roaring fireplace. They looked extraordinarily impressive, silhouetted by flames. Harry felt most inadequate at the sight of them, feeble and inexperienced. He loathed that feeling.

"What is it? Do zey want us back in ze 'all?"

 _Oh_ , Harry thought faintly,  _she thought I came to give them a message_. As much as he tried not to let it get to him, it ate at him at how very tall all of them were. He was tiny in comparison. The angry voices were growing closer.

"You stupid boy!" A voice whipped out furiously behind him. Snape. He probably thought Harry had defeated the Age Line, just because he could. Harry's terror had not been enough to convince him.

 _I didn't do it_. The meager words wouldn't fall.

The three champions were exchanging looks with one another, bewildered by the ire they heard.

Harry was grabbed from behind more violently than he expected. Snape's disgusting breath hissed something about deliberate maleficence on Harry's part; the young Slytherin was uncertain on exactly what that was, since he mostly tuned out the greasy-haired git's livid rant. The words fizzed and popped over him like bubbles riding waves breaking on a beach. The hold on his shoulders grew tighter, and he was shaken— _Boy! It's the cupboard for you!—_ and then his Head of House leaned very close, dark eyes sparking, near to madness from the surge of rage. "The  _great_   _Harry Potter_ , how special he must be made to feel… Why else does this happen  _every year,_ Potter?  _Every year_! If you aren't running off to save the day by jumping into lairs known to be inhabited by basilisks or throwing yourself in front of enraged hippogriffs or sprinting after Changed werewolves and convicted felons,  _then explain,_ you stupid boy, why you felt the need to enter!"

 _Didn't, didn't, didn't._ Unable to defend himself from the irrational conclusion, Harry felt too wrung out to answer. The tight fingers on his shoulders dug in with barely restrained violence. The floor wavered and trembled beneath Harry, a familiar warning sign. He didn't try to mitigate what was to come by breathing deeply. No, he did the opposite, embracing it.

His knees gave out, and he slumped back. Snape snapped out a few choice words about Harry's cowardice, and then the teen heard no more.

* * *

He woke to the sound of rain pounding against the glass in the infirmary and thunder grumbling through the springs of the bed. For a moment, he laid there taking comfort in his surroundings. The thought of why he hadn't been Rennervated for immediate questioning bothered him. The headmaster must not have allowed Snape to do it. Pushing the covers off, he slowly rose from the bed and put his glasses on. He'd felt better than he had in the past month probably because it was the second-most restful night of sleep he'd gotten that year. The robes fell around him, lightweight and soft. He ran a hand over his chest and then over the collar, not recognizing it. They must be patient robes.

Shuffling forward, he felt stone and then a windowsill he knew would be there. In the darkness, he leaned against the windowsill, staring out where the window would be _. Strange, tonight should have had a waning full moon._  Then a flash of brief lightning reminded him of the storm as it illuminated the grounds and the streaks of rain outside. Worried, Harry wondered if he was going to relive his second year all over again. Would anyone in Slytherin, besides Sally-Anne and Theodore, believe that he  _never_   _wanted_  to be a Triwizard champion?

"Finally awake?" Draco's voice said from behind, startling him.

"Am I still the fourth Triwizard champion?" Harry asked the window, tracing a finger against the smooth, leaded glass. He already knew the answer, but it always helped to have a second opinion.

"It is the bizarre reality," came the uncharacteristically impartial answer.

No gleeful claims to Slytherin prowess or glory? No boasts of the first Slytherin champion in four centuries? Harry peered into the darkness, only dimly seeing an outline of another person seated until a flash of light brought Draco's pale face into stark contrast. "You know, I don't  _want_  eternal glory," he said, verbally prodding his roommate to get a reaction from him. Harry's scar itched so he scratched it. It'd been doing that more of late.

"I would like to say that I  _was_  cognizant of your reaction. Anybody with a brain could see that you didn't ask someone to place your name in the Goblet of Fire." A flash of light flickered through the room. "You don't have to look surprised. I'm not an idiot to make the same mistake twice."

Feeling strange, Harry turned away again. He was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I'd like to avoid facing Lord Vole again."

"Who said anything about facing the Dark Lord?" Draco responded icily. The more he heard Harry's nickname it seemed the worse Draco felt about it.

"He wants to use me in a blood ritual," Harry said. Rain beat against the window, while the storm raged outside. He watched fixated by the sheets of slanting rain whenever the sky lit up to see.

"I already know about the prophecy Longbottom witnessed months ago, and it didn't have anything specific in it that pointed to you." There was a tapping sound and the lamp on the desk sparked to life. Draco put his wand away. "Would you like some water?"

"I'm fine." Harry tightly gripped the solid stones forming the wall, the window dark but for the flashes of lightning. "…Then you don't know."

"Know what?"

The clues had always been there indicating that Lucius Malfoy carefully disseminated only piecemeal information to his son. Why had Harry assumed Draco would be told something as sensitive as this? Harry hesitated a moment. "About the visions."

"Visions?" Draco sounded curious and horrified at once. "Don't tell me you have a Seer gift."

"No," Harry said. He'd given it a lot of thought after all, what he would say to his fellow Slytherins about his strange behaviors, to his roommates about the nightmarish visions. He only had to act well in the process, but he had to hit close to the truth. "I think I'm… connected to  _him_ …" He turned slightly from the window, watching him out the corner of his eye. "I can sense things. See things I'm not meant to."

The other Slytherin inhaled hard at the revelation, rising from his chair. His eyes were piercing, almost manic. "What did you see?"

" _He_  was scheming in a house on a hill by a graveyard… saying how he had waited thirteen years, and that a few months more didn't really matter in his grand plan, and that I was pivotal to this plan." When there was only silence, he looked directly at Draco who was gazing at him like he didn't know him at all.

"Why tell me now?"

Harry's face shuttered. "It's not smart to keep something like this to myself anymore. Your father already knows that I get visions, but not what about."

Draco frowned. "You wouldn't tell him, and you wouldn't talk about something like this around someone who might… How did he find out…? Don't tell me." Between a blink and a curl of his lips, Draco's expression fell a bit. "You caught him spying on you. Is that why you never answered my mirror-calls? Because I was prime suspect? But  _why_  was I prime suspect—Oh.  _Oh,_ that sneaky bastard," he said sounding more impressed than he wanted to be. The blond prat rolled on his heels as if struck by the idea. "My birthday present."

It was quite unnerving exactly how quick Draco was to catch on. Harry would have to be careful. "It was Repeating Parchment."

"An expensive gift since each sheet would be worth a Galleon or more. He would only do that if he was certain you didn't trust my friendship, but were too stupid to know about magical espionage." With a cluck, Draco was smiling again. "I assume you've disposed of them already?"

"I had Dobby burn all of it."

"Too bad that." Draco began to pace on the other side of the bed. "Father knows you caught him then, and you've lost any opportunity for future manipulations or direct communication. Now, you've sent the message that you're simple-minded and honest. He'll definitely try again because chances are high that if he's caught he'll know almost immediately."

"I won't let him do it again."

"He won't send Repeating Parchment again." The smile waned when Draco became still again. "Are you going to illuminate this plan to me? Because I'd think you'd want me to help prevent you from being chopped up for a stew of blood and bones."

Harry's stomach lurched. "Do you have to be so graphic about it?"

"No need to spare you from the possibility if it means you're motivated to stay out of the Dark Lord's hands."

Rubbing his face over once, Harry scowled. "Snape isn't to know about this—"

"Quite the reasonable worry, though groundless. I don't tell my godfather  _everything_."

"You know what he's capable of better than I do. I can only divert and deflect his attention. I can't protect my mind." In a spurt of inspiration, the insane idea to have himself Obliviated surfaced. But he couldn't let the terrible information go. It wouldn't be safe for the others if Harry went into a temper again.

"I could teach you what I know." Draco rubbed his hands together looking at the candle. "That would be why you spoke to Daphne earlier? To see if she knew any reputable Occlumency tutors. I was there when you asked her little sister last year. I suppose your current guardian wasn't a very good teacher."

Letting the stone against his hand firmly ground him, Harry glared. "Let  _you_  inside my head? You must think I'm stupid."

"Yes, doing nothing is  _always_  the better option. Cage yourself in until you're so desperate that you'll jump at the first offer of help." Draco's eyes rolled once to the side. "You're too stubborn when you should be flexible, too lenient when you should be harsh. It's a wonder why anyone looks up to you."

Brushing off his annoyance at the backhanded compliment, Harry scowled. "And exactly what would you want from me in return?"

"I want to replace your current advisor. He's obviously not doing a very good job."

"…My advisor?"

Draco let out an annoyed huff. "Theodore Nott, who else? Whenever you have trouble you go to  _him_ ; I've seen you do it. But this year's different. He's hardly around, and when he is, he's either giving you shoddy counsel or he's off being seduced by a Dream Seer!"

Levelling a hard stare at the blond prat, Harry shifted his aching feet. "If I understand right, you, the son of a Death Eater, want to support a fourteen-year-old who's likely to end up quartered and stuffed into a cauldron to raise a smarter, eviler Dark Lord. This 'support' would require that I allow you access to my secrets, go to you with my troubles, and follow your advice." Harry felt his face pull as he smiled nastily. "Yes, why wouldn't I jump at that chance?"

Draco's jaw clenched as if being found untrustworthy was an affront. "This plot against you requires a plant inside Hogwarts, doesn't it?"

Begrudgingly, Harry nodded.

"Go on then. Ask me why my godfather doesn't have anything to do with it."

"Why not?"

"You  _do_  remember whose eye color you inherited?" Draco drawled out, inspecting his nails with great interest under the dim lamplight. Lightning flickered, and several moments later a crash of thunder rolled through them, the gasping breath of a dying storm.

Harry shoved down the annoyance which had re-materialized because his roommate bloody well knew that everyone liked to point it out. "Yes. What's that have to do with anything?"

Draco stepped closer, looking as if he might land hands on Harry's hunched shoulders before he decided not to and left them at his sides. "You're incredibly thick about matters of the heart, aren't you?"

A snort of derision came from Harry. "I know where you're going with this."

"Oh?"

"Don't expect me to believe that  _Snape_  holds some affection towards me because of something as superficial and silly as  _eye color_. He's made it plain that I'm nothing more than a nuisance foisted onto him by an unfortunate Sorting and the headmaster's orders. I'm not stupid, Draco. You told me he specifically asked Lord Vole to not kill my mum, and there wasn't any mention about a newborn in that plea for mercy, was there?"

"Hmm." With a thoughtful look, Draco crossed his arms over his chest, running a finger against his bottom lip. He'd begun to fill out into his tall frame when Harry hadn't been looking.

Harry was still short and lean next to him, even after all the vile nutrient potions he'd taken over the past few years. He quashed the spark of jealousy worming up. Being jealous of Draco on a matter of physical appearance was absolutely pathetic. "You're never convinced by what I have to say. At least, Theo  _listens_."

"Even though you act like you hate my godfather, you actually hoped the plant was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Stiffening at the accusation, Harry deflected from answering by saying, "But he's an ex-Auror and hates every Dark Wizard around."

"Which makes it quite odd that he has no difficulty demonstrating the three Unforgivables in front of us, don't you think?" Any sign of amusement had left. "Doesn't quite seem in character for him, but he might already have us marked as future Death Eaters. I hadn't heard any complaints from the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs about his teaching style…"

"None?" Harry couldn't keep the incredulity out of his tone.

Draco shook his head. "He goes quickly and efficiently with the lessons with the Eagles—very to their liking—to cram as much information as possible into their overlarge heads. He's gruff, but patient with the Badgers, and they're usually quite particular with new staff."

"What about the Gryffindors?"

"They'd complain about not being able to Apparate to the moon if they thought you were listening. They are unreliable; if they aren't extrapolating nuances that aren't there, they're wildly exaggerating the details for attention." Before Harry could correct him, Draco added, "Excepting a few outliers that I am not on good terms with to expect a reasonable answer when asking a question about a serious matter."

"But with us…" Harry crossed his arms before quickly uncrossing him. He'd been mimicking Draco without thinking. "He's harsher than he needs to be and is underhanded to get us to do what he wants… Doesn't that make him a decent teacher because he can change his teaching method to suit his students?"

Draco blinked as if that hadn't occurred to him. "Could mean that, but I've never liked how he watches you constantly. Then again, he could be doing that at the headmaster's request."

Maybe under great stress Harry's paranoid brain had taken an unthreatening gesture from Professor Moody and warped it into something else. But who else would have put his name in? "I need to prove he's not the Dark Lord's servant."

"Perhaps Polyjuiced…? Hm. You never do see him without his flask. But there's a very good reason for that. He's had no less than seventy-eight public attempts on his life, three of them by poison." Draco looked quite thoughtful, uncrossing his arms to prop a fist on a hip. "Very few things can reveal a Polyjuiced individual, the simplest and safest being time without another dose… And if we're wrong, we'd be in exceptionally deep trouble…" He tapped an index finger against his chin. "Could have been High Master Karkaroff who slipped your name in. He was seen skulking around the Goblet of Fire for the past three nights…"

"Is he a Death Eater?"

"Was. But he, least of all, would want the Dark Lord to return. He snitched on others without gaining more than his own bag of skin. So, no, likely not him either." The blond sighed with a shake of his head. "We'll think on it later. If no one has tried to kill you yet, we can assume that the Dark Lord wanted you in the tournament. No, we've more pressing issues to discuss, such as what your first task is going to be."

"Has it been announced already?"

"No." Draco smiled.

Harry did not hurt him, despite the interminably long time it took from him to explain what he meant. Harry prompted, "No?"

"As I understood it, there was a large paper trail of shipments of illegal-to-import creatures at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures…"

Sally-Anne had said the first task would be a trial by  _fire_. " _Dragons_?"

"Very good, and with plenty of time to prepare I fully expect you to  _survive_ with minimal injury." Draco's smile broadened, and Harry wanted to strike him for it. "Even better, you have a foot up on your competition."

"You want me to win, don't you?" Harry accused.

"There's no harm in flipping a disastrous turn of fortune into prime opportunity. At least, that's what my father's always told me when stupid, horrible things happen to me..." Ever the flagrant showman, Draco paused unnecessarily and gestured towards Harry. "Until I met you, I never understood what he meant about turning feces into fertilizer; it smells bad either way you have it. But it's really all a matter of perspective, which is why people hire new advisors instead of relying on previously trusted advisors who neglected to keep them out of trouble."

Harry's hands clenched at his sides. "I want to strangle you."

"I well understand the feeling." The smiling prat pocketed his hands and took a few steps back. "But your pride isn't going to let you do anything less than your best effort now, is it?" He sounded quite sure of himself, but the fact that he removed himself from Harry's reach made Harry feel a bit better.

Harry grumbled.

Draco laughed softly and then proceeded to tell him how the whole of the Slytherin House was taking a moment out of their busy schedules to research different strategies when tackling one of the three different breeds of dragons Harry might face.

Harry sat on the windowsill, trying to give the appearance of someone looking bored when he was actually listening with rapt attention. Because of Sally-Anne's words, Harry was just as confident as Draco that he would survive. Unlike the other teen, he wasn't as confident about finishing the tournament un-maimed. But to win the Triwizard tournament? That didn't seem so out of reach by the way Draco waxed on about it.

"This will be great for you. Everyone's going to see you for what you really are," Draco said at the end of his long explanation.

"An orphaned, inept Half-blood?" Harry said jokingly.

" _No!_ " Draco swung a hand, cutting through the air. "A talented,  _great_  wizard who has overcome a pitiful Muggle upbringing to claim championship over those with greater age and familiarity with magic."

"Very well, Dennis—" WHUMPF. Harry caught himself against the inner wall before he fell over. The soft, cottony pillow had bounced to the floor after nailing Harry in the face. "Oi!"

"Fair's fair. I am  _nothing_  like that odious first year—!" Draco cut himself off when the sconces set into the walls lit themselves and slowly began to brighten.

The door to Madam Pomfrey's office opened and out came the Hogwarts Healer and the Potions Master. "Mr. Malfoy, cut the theatrics. I will have none of that nonsense in my infirmary." She bustled to Harry and waved a wand in front of him. The bright light of diagnostic magic appeared in the air before him, causing him to close his eyes reflexively. Behind his eyelids, the light disappeared. "All looks good, dear."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." His eyes were still adjusting to the dim light.

She smiled at him and turned to his roommate. "Come, Mr. Malfoy. I will escort you as far as the Entrance Hall."

With a cross look, Draco glanced between his silent godfather and Harry. "See you later."

After a halfhearted wave, he watched them leave. As soon as the doors closed behind them, he glanced at his ex-guardian. "What do you want?"

A stick of wood eleven inches long was held up. Harry knew better than to snatch it from the thin, pale fingers. "You have been dabbling in Arts that have long been stripped from Hogwarts' curriculum."

Pressing his lips firmly together, Harry simply looked past his Head of House. The git also thought that Harry had put his name in for the running too, when he hadn't.

"…I spent a considerable amount of time using the Spell Chronology Charm on your wand, Potter. And do you know what I discovered?" After a minute of utter silence from Harry, Snape growled, " _You_  were the one who set the curse upon Professor Moody—"

"I haven't—!"

"—and sometime after cast two of the three Unforgivables, probably on some unsuspecting animal."

"But Moody—"

"That's  _high_   _crime_ , Potter. No matter if you are a minor or not, only with the rarity of prior approval from the Ministry can a person legally use them." Black eyes bore into Harry's skull, and Harry knew that if he really wanted to, the adult could rip the facts of his innocence from his memories. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"Professor Moody taught them to us. The Imperius and Cruciatus Curses."

"Look at me."

A very reluctant Harry recalled the lessons and was swallowed into darkness and rage the soonest his mind was lanced with Legilimency. And then he was released, his head aching with unfamiliar, discordant memories. He sat down heavily onto the bed, kneading his temples. That had never happened before.

"We will meet with the headmaster at a more appropriate hour tomorrow. He will decide what to do with you." He set a vial upon the bedside table. "Drink this. The Head Boy will watch over you tonight to make sure you don't wander needlessly as you have apparently done these past few weeks."

Still reeling, Harry didn't know what he was talking about. The grimy memories were folding away from him, out of reach. Black robes trailed after Snape, and the thin, reedy Mervyn Wynch entered after.

Harry didn't want to talk to anyone else when he felt as if evil pixies were slamming hammers behind his eyeballs. Uncorking the vial, Harry drank it back. Not a moment later, he fell onto the covers fast asleep.

When Harry woke up late morning without dreams, he sat up straight pushing the covers back, looking from one side of the empty infirmary to the other. He thought it was odd that he would be left alone after Professor Snape accused him of serious offenses. His stomach gurgled hungrily. He stood up, putting the Glaxxes on, and took off the patient robes to pull on his clean robes. He snapped on his empty wand holster. His green pouch was nowhere to be found. Snape must've taken it along with his wand. Perhaps the thought was that Harry couldn't slip away without notice if he had neither his wand nor Invisibility Cloak.

When someone coughed with the sound of fluid in their chest, Harry was pulled back to the present moment. He was in the infirmary, and it was obvious he was a flight risk. Did they trust him not to try to run? He looked about for any sign of magical traps before he ventured much farther than his bed. Nothing.

Harry heard the doors open; he peeked around the blinds to see Sally-Anne rush in with a stack of toast. "Want to go for a walk?" She whispered, "I have permission from Madam Pomfrey."

It must be Free Period. Harry was surprised not to see a stack of work, seeing as how he'd missed History of Magic class.

"Yes, I would like that very much," Harry said, doubly grateful and suspicious that he hadn't been put under house arrest. He took a piece of jam-slathered toast and chomped a bite out of it.

They went the alternate route out of Hogwarts castle passing the greenhouses, where at most two or three Herbology classes would be taking place. They were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake where the Durmstrang ship was moored. It was a chilly morning, so they kept moving, munching on the toast in comfortable silence.

Harry took in deep breaths of air, allowing the calm around him to settle into his head. He wasn't really that scared about the tournament, since Draco apparently had it well in hand. It was this new problem, this being accused of nefarious plots against Moody, which had Harry's unease rearing its ugly head. "I want to go to the common room. Do I have permission for that?" He finally said to Sally-Anne.

She grinned. "Come on. I want to see your face when you see it."

He followed her, his imagination running wild. Perhaps there was some sort of magical illusion to practice fighting against dragons? No, Harry reminded himself, he had to assume his housemates were in a celebratory mood. What if it was bedecked with Slytherin colors and they'd been partying in wait for their Triwizard Champion to show? "What've they done to it?"

"Nothing you wouldn't approve of."

"…" He hoped that was so.

"And we know you don't appreciate hero worship." Sally-Anne hesitated. "Well, other than that one over-exuberant first year…"

"Good." It was probably best he didn't have his wand. He would have hexed Dennis if the boy was stupid enough to hug him without warning.

Quietly they re-entered Hogwarts through a side entrance and took the stairs down to the dungeons. Standing in front of the portrait-hole was a Creevey. Colin lifted his camera and started taking pictures of Harry as an unerring flow of questions and compliments poured out of his mouth, one of which he repeated several times, "How'd you get past the Age Line, Harry? Everyone in Gryffindor thinks you're brilliant!"

"I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire. I didn't ask anyone to put my name in the Goblet of Fire," he said mechanically and then gave Sally-Anne an annoyed look, when Colin asked the same questions again in different words. Obviously, the third year didn't believe him. Perhaps this was what Draco had meant by Gryffindors extrapolating incorrectly.

"Excuse me," she said regally, "Harry Potter is exhausted right now. Any questions you may have can be directed to his personal advisor, Draco Malfoy."

What a bother. Now, Draco was telling everyone his newfound status, which Harry hadn't given him. Of course, he would be believed since Harry had been in his company for the first months of the year. Harry scowled.

"Draco Malfoy is ignoring my post. I saw him burn my letter today without even opening it," Colin complained. "What if I'd tried to send Harry's photos to him? They'd be gone!"

"Then don't send letters," Crabbe said gruffly.

The portrait of the Thin Lady had swung open behind Harry, and Crabbe and Goyle were standing in its entrance. "Shoo!" Goyle stepped forward, throwing out a meaty hand and very nearly backhanding the Gryffindor. Creevey let out a yelp of fright and escaped down the corridor like a rabbit who'd been flushed out of bushes. Crabbe chuckled at the sight, thwacking Goyle on the shoulder approvingly.

"Thanks," Harry said to the hulking Goyle. His roommate nodded, staring at the floor bashfully.

Instead of horrid cheers of welcome and senseless festivity, the Slytherin common room was buzzing with single-minded activity. Harry let out a small sigh of relief as he walked down the steps. There were tables set up with stacks of papers. Harry had to duck a floating paper airplane whizzing by to be caught by a student standing among a group who had their heads together with focused excitement. Harry definitely approved. None seemed to even notice his entrance.

"The Grey Grace is back!" Harry overheard from the corner. His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to determine who'd said that. An unabashed Dennis Creevey seemed prime suspect.

"Harry!" Pike Lestrange, flanked by several of his yearmates, lifted a hand in greeting. "Better?"

"I feel great… besides the whole I-might-lose-a-limb-and-can't-back-out bit," Harry muttered.

"Yeah… that would be the downside. I'm sorry that someone put your name in the Goblet of Fire." The other third years nodded somberly behind him. So, his House family seemed to have learned from the Heir of Slytherin fiasco to not make assumptions when strange happenings occurred around Harry. "When we find out who did it, they will regret defying you." While Harry struggled to formulate a response that didn't sound ungrateful, Lestrange shoved a large dark blue pouch into his hands. Harry didn't assume that his things had been given back yet. He opened it and found countless vials of potions within it. The third year continued, "You've got to take sleep aids until the tournament's over. Poor reflexes have killed more experienced men when facing down a dragon."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Lestrange. Did Madam Pomfrey tell you I hadn't been sleeping?"

He smiled and tapped the side of his nose. "Our Head of House used  _Priori Incantatem_  on your wand to see if you bypassed the Age Line and discovered you had cast an awful lot of Silencing Wards. There were an awful lot of traces of it around your bed… Those Slytherins in detention brewed several batches of that to keep your… issue… underwraps."

"Ah," Harry said, turning to Sally-Anne. "And the class work I missed?"

She smiled. "Tracey promised to give me notes on Binns' class since I skipped; I'll give those to you as soon as she gives me a copy."

"Thanks. I'm heading up to my room. I need some space."

"Alright," Sally-Anne said.

Alone, Harry took the stairs to his empty dormitory and sat at his desk. He'd placed the bag of draughts on it. He had no homework left to finish for that week, and he had loads of time before Astronomy class. He was inordinately glad that he didn't have to exhaust himself fighting his own House on top of everything else. Harry was especially unsure of what to think of Snape's decision to keep his housemates in the dark about the levelled accusations. He at least appreciated the wizard's tact.

There came a timid knock on the door. Harry glanced at the time. The first class of the day had finished, but it couldn't be any of his roommates. They wouldn't have bothered knocking. Walking across the room, Harry opened it, and Dennis Creevey beamed up at him. "Professor Snape wants to see you in his office downstairs."

"Right." He stepped out, shutting the door behind him, and started going down the spiral staircase.

"Every Slytherin  _says_  you didn't do it—put your name in the Goblet of Fire. But I don't know if they really believe it. They're all too excited about having someone like you to represent us. I do know that you wouldn't lie about putting your name in. If you say you didn't, you didn't." Dennis took a breath. "My brother doesn't believe you though. He thinks all Vipers lie. I already told him he's wrong to call you a liar. You're the Boy Who Lived. You might lie about small stuff like everyone else, but you wouldn't about something like this. The Gryffindors have two other Houses between them and us during meals; they couldn't have seen how sick you looked when your name was called. I thought you were going to pass out on the spot."

Harry was quite happy to see the archway into the common room. It meant there were only twenty more steps to Snape's office and away from Dennis' chatter. "I'm glad I didn't either. That would have been an embarrassment for everyone involved."

"Yeah!" When Harry turned down the short corridor, Dennis stayed in the common room with a little wave. "Good luck!" He stage-whispered as if he knew Harry was in trouble.

And then the oddly perceptive first year was gone.

Steeling himself, Harry walked through the open door and shut it behind him, instantly silencing the noise from the common room. Besides himself, no one was in the office. He pulled the cupboard into his mind and waited.

Harry heard raised voices drifting down from somewhere. He frowned, tilting his head. It was coming from the storeroom which held the secret entrance to Slytherin's Personal Study.

"I was to inform you that they are awaiting your presence upstairs as soon as you arrived," came a voice from his left. He blinked at Salazar Slytherin's grave demeanor and then nodded. The Founder walked out of the frame.

In the storeroom, a part of the stone wall was open leading to a dimly lit stairwell. Harry edged through it, seeing endless darkness leading straight down. It only meant that he shouldn't try to fall to find out how deep it went. Hand tracing along the damp wall he took the tiny steps two at a time trying not to trip. The sound of Snape arguing his point was unmistakable.

"—It's clear that he's drawn to the Dark Arts."

"I disagree, Severus. Lord Slytherin has mentioned to me that Harry has yet to take up his offer for tutelage. He resists the  _allure_  of power—"

"You can't make that assumption! He has been studying, alone, in the library. His stubborn, proud self wouldn't allow anyone to  _teach_ him Dark magic. No, he has to follow in the deranged footsteps of the Marauders and experiment with dangerous magic!"

"He has never set foot in the Restricted Section… Severus, I urge you to see reason. He has had within his possession the cloak all these years and only sought to use it for the benefit of others."

"Until recently."

Harry had reached the doorway where warm sunlight spilled into the dark stairwell.

"Yes…" The headmaster sounded very disappointed about this. "Harry, come in. We've been expecting you."

Harry carefully walked into the room. His eyes trailed over the majestic Oriental rug on the ground as he stepped closer. The manners he'd learned from Mrs. Longbottom overcame him in his moment of stress. His spine lengthened, his hands were clasped behind his back, and his chin was up. However, he couldn't quite meet either of their gazes, knowing how powerless he was to their Legilimency. "Good afternoon, professors."

"Good afternoon, Harry. Have a seat." Both adults were behind the desk, but only the headmaster was seated. The circular office looked as it normally did with delicate silver instruments puffing and whirring, portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozing in their frames, and Fawkes perching on the stand on the right side of Dumbledore. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls of one section of the room where the Sorting Hat slept.

Harry stepped forward and sat, doing his best to ignore the crawling sensation of Snape's eyes on him.

"Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you," Harry said, sounding far more confident than he felt.

"You know why you are here, but I want to ask you a few questions before we get started."

"Started, sir?"

"Yes," the headmaster said without explaining what he meant. He peered over his half-moon spectacles and pushed the singed piece of paper that had come out of the Goblet of Fire across the table towards Harry. "Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

Harry's eyes flicked towards the scrap. "No, sir."

From his place beside Dumbledore, Snape didn't make a sound, though he was looking quite malevolent

"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire?"

"No, sir."

Snape scoffed. "You have been  _crossing lines_  ever since you arrived at Hogwarts. Drop the innocent act. You and I know that a simple Age Line would not stop you. Otherwise, you wouldn't bother averting your eyes from the headmaster."

Harry stared at the floor.

"Would you say this is your handwriting, Harry?" The headmaster asked gently, carefully pointing a finger towards the bit of paper.

"Yes, but it's old and on Muggle paper. I haven't used a ballpoint pen since primary school." Harry forced his face to retain calmness and looked into the awaiting kind, blue eyes. "To the best of my knowledge, I didn't put that in."

The greasy-haired git's posture was screaming smugness by Harry's pronouncement, but Harry maintained eye contact with the more important wizard in the room. There was hardly any impression of the headmaster's Legilimency when it came, so gentle it was. After several tense moments, Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Severus, go fetch Professor Moody and Miss Davis."

The Potions Master visibly startled as if he was not expecting that command. "Headmaster, you very well saw the slip of parchment he placed into it and the spell he used to bypass the Age Line—!"

"I didn't—" Harry started, but stopped at the sight of a second slip of paper with Harry's inked name held up by the headmaster's fingers.

"Which are the results of an enterprising student, Severus." The bit of parchment was placed beside the torn Muggle paper. "Alas, Harry was not chosen from the pool of Hogwarts students. And this matter of a fourth champion was too clever for our Harry by half. Now, I have asked what I needed from you."

While Harry was struck speechless by the appearance of the second slip, Snape exited in a furious manner through the very door which Harry had used. What did that mean? Harry's brain was in knots at the sight of them sitting side by side. He'd entered  _himself_?

"Now that that matter is settled…" The headmaster had already left his seat and was standing beside a tall cabinet of glass vials while Harry was still trying to figure out something to say. "We move to your use of the Unforgivables."

Harry stood uneasily, making his way slowly after the headmaster. From beneath the cabinetry a large stone basin slid out much like the baptismal Harry had seen before. There were odd markings all along the rim.

"You look worried."

"It would help if I knew what we were doing, sir." Harry needed to know what to expect.

Professor Dumbledore brushed his fingertips across the rim. "This is a Pensieve, Harry. A magical device which allows wizards and witches alike to revisit memories, either their own or those of others." The headmaster took out a pale white wand and pressed it to his temple. "And this… is a memory." He flicked it off his wand above the Pensieve, and it floated gently into the liquid in the bowl. Once it touched, the liquid let off a light and a quick succession of images flashed through quicker than Harry could follow.

"Once we are done, it's simply a matter of taking it up and placing it back." The headmaster poked his wand into the bowl and the thick, white strand of ectoplasm-like substance anchored to it. It slid back into his head without any sign of discomfort.

"You want my memories of the lessons of Unforgivables with Professor Moody?"

The headmaster smiled. "Yes. The whole lesson isn't required, just the pieces we need to see. Do I have your permission to extract and view them, Harry?"

"There's a law on extracting memories from minors without express permission from their guardian, professor."

Unexpectedly, the smile deepened. The old wizard raised a hand and a paper was summoned forth from his desk. "Augusta sent a notarized document giving permission in this morning's post."

The parchment was very thick. There was an upraised emblem at the bottom, a fist holding a wand of the Wizarding notary she used. Her signature lay next to the official wax seal of the Longbottoms, which was a wizard holding a book, engraved with a protection rune, and riding a tortoise. "What would happen if I refuse?"

"You would be given into the custody of Hit Wizards. Due to the binding magical contract, you wouldn't be permitted to leave until the tournament was over, but after you would be placed in Azakaban to await trial. And regrettably, the unlawful use of Unforgivables, even on animals, is treated quite severely. You would be imprisoned for at least six months."

Harry shuddered inwardly. "Then yes, you have my permission."

"Concentrate then on your memories of the Unforgivables." When Harry frowned up at the elderly wizard, Professor Dumbledore said, "It helps to close your eyes."

"Right." Harry's eyelids closed, and he thought of those moments.

There was a soft tap against his temple and then the memories became more distant, as if they were years older. Harry looked down at the shallow basin as light flashed up. The contents shimmered and swirled.

"Now, lean into the basin and the Pensieve will do the rest."

Harry gripped the rim, recognizing the heads of his housemates in the liquid. The very moment that the tip of Harry's nose touched the strange substance the world pitched around him. Harry was thrown headfirst into the bowl, which looked much too shallow to contain him. He fell through something icy-cold and black; it was like being sucked into a dark whirlpool and reminded him of falling into Tom Riddle's journal a most unnerving sensation—

Quite suddenly, Harry found that he was standing next to himself. His doppelganger looked bored as Professor Moody spoke about the Imperius Curse. And then Professor Dumbledore was standing beside him.

"—To  _really_  understand the Imperius Curse though requires a more  _practical_  approach."

Ten containers holding giant cave spiders floated to their desks. Professor Dumbledore was frowning as he looked around the classroom, which was murkier than Harry remembered.

"You only need to point your wand at your target and say ' _Imperio!_ '"

A chorus of voices rose, but Harry realized that very few sounded like children. He looked around and noticed that the memory was largely blank beyond Harry, his desk, and the very normal-sized spider on his desk. Harry very quietly poked his wand towards the small, unrestricted spider and whispered the incantation once. The spider immediately scampered forward and then backward in a very unnatural way for it. Then the look of concentration on Harry's face faded, and he continued muttering the spell under his breath without any willpower behind it. Eventually the common house spider jumped from the edge of his desk, fleeing from his incessant prodding. His doppelganger continued to prod and mutter at empty space. The memory dispersed to the next class period where they were given the same activity, but Harry chose to leave his desk and mill around, completely ignoring the chorus of ' _Imperio_!'

Then came the lesson on the Torture Curse. "You have to really  _mean it_ or else it won't work," Professor Moody said with his gruff tone.

Unlike the first time, there were no containers of spiders sent to each of the tables, but Harry saw that his doppelganger had found another harmless spider. Harry knew he'd thought of all the times he'd been bitten by spiders in the cupboard under the stairs to properly cast the spell. The little spider stiffened for a briefer moment than Harry remembered without the screaming before his doppelganger ended the curse. There were more voices than last time casting and none of them were children. After that, his doppelganger didn't try to cast it again and the trembling spider escaped. The memory faded and a repeat of the lesson occurred. Harry watched himself leave his desk as he looked out the window with a blank look on his face, the faint voices ignored again.

And then he was tumbling backwards out of the basin. He weaved a bit before he caught his balance. That was very strange.

"Thank you, Harry. May I keep them?"

"If you want." He certainly preferred the unpleasant memories blunted.

The memory hung limply from the tip of Professor Dumbledore's wand and was carefully placed into an empty vial. Just as he finished labeling it, a voice called from the normal entrance to his office.

"What's all this about, professor?" Moody was standing patiently with Snape and Tracey.

"Alastor, I need to borrow the memories of your first lessons with the fourth-year Slytherins to the end of September." The headmaster looked gravely to Harry's housemate. "And yours as well, Miss Davis."

The DADA Professor stumped forward flinging his memory into the basin. "Together then?"

"After you," said Professor Dumbledore.

The grizzly-haired professor dunked his head forward and then so did the headmaster. The both of them remained where they were though Harry thought it was strange how they could remain upright when their bodies looked so relaxed.

Waiting patiently, Tracey had a thick strand of memory hanging from her wand. He wondered why her parents had given permission in anticipation for someone to view her memories. "What's this about, Harry?"

"I think the professor might be comparing them…"

"Yes, but  _why_." She glanced at Professor Snape, but he gave no indication of his mood.

"Well," Harry felt awkward standing there. "Because of something I did."

The git snorted. "Not going to  _brag_?"

"Why would I brag about something like that?" Harry nearly shouted, hands fisting in his robes. When no response was forthcoming, Harry was able to calm back down, but didn't look at either of them.

"Harry… what did you do?" Tracey's voice was tight as if she might be frightened.

"I cast some Unforgivables." She let out a small gasp and Harry looked to see that she had taken a step back to have Snape between the both of them. "I didn't do it for  _fun_. Moody taught it to us. You saw."

Snape tsked loudly. "Potter, you're deranged if you believe anyone will fall for that pathetic excuse."

"It's not an excuse!" Harry stepped closer. "Tracey, you cast it too. We all did."

The blond stepped back to stay mostly obscured behind the git, who glowered down at Harry. "I will have you petrified, Potter, if you don't step away. You've done more than enough damage to your case," Snape said, his teeth bared in an unfriendly manner.

A flash of understanding cut into Harry then. Tracey was hiding behind Snape; she was  _scared_  of him, of Harry. He immediately backpedaled, turning away towards the eerie sight of two adults with their heads next to each other in the shallow basin.

Seconds later, both adults straightened and stepped back from the Pensieve. While Moody was placing the memory back where it belonged, Tracey was gestured forward. Giving more space around Harry than he thought was necessary, she hurried by to drop her memory in. "You may view it, headmaster, but I'd rather not join you."

Professor Dumbledore nodded and went to the basin once more.

"What nonsense have you gotten up to, Potter?" The magical eye was watching Harry more than it was whirling around.

Before Harry could answer, Snape said, "Potter accused you of not merely instructing methods against the Unforgivables, but of  _teaching_ them to his class."

The wizard tossed his head back as he laughed boisterously. " _Me_? Teach Unforgivables? Hah! Wouldn't dream of helping Voldemort train up an army! And with boys as young as Potter? Old Dark Breath would sooner spit on them than use them!"

"Indeed." Snape did not look amused. His dark eyes settled on Harry, who was very confused by the turn in events. This was not how it was supposed to turn out. Had everyone lost their minds? "And…I'm afraid we discovered who cursed the chalk."

Having returned to Snape's side, Tracey made a surprised noise.

Not about to let her think badly of him, Harry said, "But I didn't—"

" _Him_?" Moody slammed his walking stick against the ground and leaned on it, peering straight into Harry's eyes. "Color me surprised. Didn't think James and Lily's son had it in him to be  _Dark_."

Anger flared into being and lips pulled back from Harry's teeth. "Then why else would you rifle through my old Muggle things and put my name in the Goblet of Fire, if you didn't think I did it?"

"Have  _any_  evidence for that wild accusation, Potter?"

Moody lifted a hand to forestall Snape's mocking derision. "The boy has a right to be paranoid. Anyone would be after being locked into a magical contract against their will." Licking his upper lip, the DADA professor grinned. "Look here, Potter. If I had done this, I wouldn't have allowed  _two_  champions from Hogwarts; too conspicuous, you see." Professor Moody's eye went to whirring and spinning around. "Whoever's hoodwinked the Goblet of Fire overdid the Confundus Charm they used. Thought it'd be smart to make the powerful magical object forget that there were three schools competing in the tournament, to make you the only one of an unnamed fourth school. But all it's done is make doubly sure that we know there's been foul play, see? The Ministry is sending a contingent of Aurors for the Tasks, but don't let that lull you into a false sense of security. CONSTANT VIGILANCE will save your life one day."

Harry remembered Slytherin's words about Lady Ravenclaw's foresight to allow more than three schools to take part in the tradition, but this… this had twisted her work. Harry's eyes flicked up towards the portrait. The only one awake was Salazar Slytherin's, who nodded at him. Snape silently remained where he was, eyes flicking between Harry and Professor Moody. Tracey didn't look as if she had listened to their conversation at all, appearing to resist touching the silver instruments on the shelf beside her.

Finally, Dumbledore moved away from the basin. "Thank you, Miss Davis. Your help has been greatly appreciated."

Jumping at the chance to leave, Tracey scooped the memory up with her wand and exited out of the headmaster's office without a look back at Harry. He knew hoping she wouldn't say anything about the cursed chalk was ridiculous. He had to fight the accusations once again. Once Draco caught wind of it, he'd be insufferable. The creak of the chair alerted Harry to the headmaster taking a seat once again. "Harry, you've been under a lot of stress lately—"

"I'm not making it up. You saw my memories. That's how it happened."

Moody barked out a laugh before he managed to stop, while Snape pinched his nose as if he found Harry unbearably dumb.

The headmaster gave Harry a pitying look. "Have you been taking anything to settle your nerves lately?"

Harry stared at the old wizard, barely glancing at either of the professors. A horrid idea percolated into his mind. "It didn't…" He took a breath. "If it didn't happen the way I remembered it... Does this mean I was Confunded?" Panic welled into him. When had someone had a chance to?

"No. Your memories weren't tampered with. They showed instead an altered state of mind, which suggests that you either ingested psychotropics—"

"What are those?"

"Do not interrupt the headmaster again, Potter, or—"

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore said with steel in his tone and the Potions Master merely glowered. "Muggles would call them illegal drugs."

Harry scratched his ear. "If I had taken any drugs, it would have been unknowingly."

"Which leaves Bewitchment, like I thought," Professor Moody said gruffly towards Dumbledore. "He was acting strangely during a few lessons, but I didn't see any active spells on him." He rolled his magical eye towards Snape.

"Might be a Concoction of Bewitchment," Snape provided reluctantly. When the tense words left him so too did most of the bitter tension from his face. "Do you have assigned seating?"

"No, but Potter is a creature of habit. He sits in the back row closest to the door. Someone must've noticed and decided to take advantage."

"If I might go investigate, headmaster?" Snape looked to Professor Dumbledore, who nodded. The Potions Master scurried out without another word. For some reason, the Potions Master seemed almost  _eager_ …

"If we're done here, I have a class of first years who don't know the difference between a Horklump and a Nogtail."

"Thank you, Alastor. You may go." Professor Dumbledore said.

A short nod, the grimacing wizard stumped out.

Threading his hands together, blue eyes peered curiously at Harry. "I'm afraid I have a few more questions for you."

Harry remained standing, clasping his hands behind him.

"Do you consider yourself a Dark Lord?"

"You're joking. Me?"

The steel hardened in Dumbledore's eyes. "I'm unfortunately quite serious, Harry."

"No, I don't."

"Do you desire to hold the title?"

Harry flung his hands forward explosively. "You can't  _really_  be asking me that with a straight face!"

"Harry. I must insist on an answer."

"No, I don't want to be one,  _sir_ ," Harry grit through his teeth. "A Dark Lord murdered my parents and loads of other people. Why would I  _want_  to be one?"

"Not every Dark Lord begins on that path at the start. Some strayed and became ensnared in an ever-widening pool of darkness," Professor Dumbledore said quite neutrally.

"Then I won't stray," Harry said sharply. "I'd rather die than turn Dark." The silence from the headmaster was chilling to Harry. The Slytherin quickly looked at the floor. Did the adult already suspect what Harry's affliction of visions was caused by? It wouldn't be surprising if he had his suspicions. Professor Dumbledore had struck down the mighty Grindelwald before the turn of the century. He had to be a bloody powerful wizard to do that to an overly ambitious Dark Lord of Grindelwald's genius.

The headmaster breathed out, dropping his hands onto the desk. "I had not realized what lengths Alastor would go to test your resolve, and for that I am truly sorry," the old wizard said wearily.

Totally thrown, Harry frowned. "Come again?"

"Only four other students in the entirety of Hogwarts managed to throw it off thrice. You did so four times, a commendable show of willpower against blind compliance.."

"Should I have not? Should I have let him? If it was a test, then…" It would have been better if Harry had not shown that he could resist the Imperius Curse so well.

"Heavens no, Harry. I did not ask Alastor to make a trial of an Unforgivable. He improvised the orders from the Ministry and myself, deciding on his own to demonstrate exactly how awful and terrifying that curse is."

Harry felt a bit of pity for the headmaster who had so obviously put his trust and faith into a close friend. "Shouldn't you fire him then?"

"If I do so, then the Ministry will instate their own professor, who might be even crueler. I cannot allow that while we have international dignitaries in our midst." Professor Dumbledore searched Harry's face. "However, what Alastor has done to you is inexcusable. It is therefore quite understandable to want to get even with him—"

" _Get even_?" Harry said through gritted teeth. "He tried to throw me out the window! There's nothing I could do to him that's equal to an Unforgivable!"  _Besides, an Unforgivable_ , Harry thought.

"Yes, and because of this you will be given the option of taking an Independent Study of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I cannot with good conscience place you back into Alastor's classroom." The headmaster looked ever more drained, appearing both disappointed and disheartened. "I will look past your retaliatory Knockback Jinx this time. However, the cursed chalk incident was potentially lethal, Harry, and is deserving of punishment."

With what proof? Harry wanted to say as his mouth went dry. "But I…" His voice cracked. "I didn't curse the chalk."

Professor Dumbledore gathered up Harry's holly wand with his hands, which Snape must have left behind. He looked over it as if it might divulge secrets to him. "…You were seen, in the middle of the night that Thursday before the unfortunate attack occurred, by Lord Slytherin. I say  _seen_ , but in actuality he heard you. You were wearing your father's Invisibility Cloak to sneak out of Lord Slytherin's Personal Study to deliver the cursed chalk to the third floor Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom."

"But…" Harry rubbed his scar. "I was deeply asleep that night. I didn't—" A flicker of something came to him. An obscenely long incantation. The careful placement of the chalk on the runner beneath the blackboard. The whisper of the Invisibility Cloak shrouding him. Staring at the carved decorations of the headmaster's oak desk, Harry drew his fingers away from his forehead when he realized what must have happened. Shame filled him, even if there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. "…I did it."  _In my sleep_ , Harry left out.  _The soul-shard did it to exact vengeance. It must have also entered my name into the Triwizard Tournament…_

' _He is **my** prey **!'**_

Professor Dumbledore nodded sadly. "Do you feel regret for your actions?"

"…Yes, sir…" Harry's hands clenched against his knees, his eyes firmly on the floor. "I'll write an apology to Professor Moody."  _Even if I hate him,_  Harry thought.

"See that you do." This seemed to cheer up Professor Dumbledore a little. "I will give you more time to think about the independent—"

"I've made up my mind. I'd like to take your offer, professor, but who would be teaching me? Professor Snape has a class at that time."

"Likely a seventh year who doesn't plan to sit for the Potions N.E.W.T.…" The headmaster was in deep thought now.

That cleared out everyone in Slytherin and likely most of the Ravenclaws and more than a few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. It was required to have an Acceptable on the Potions N.E.W.T. to be considered for a position as an Auror, Healer, or anything else that may deal with the Dark Arts at some point in time. "Bother."

"Don't fret. Someone will tutor you."

"Could you at least pick someone who would make bearable company? Maybe bring back Lupin?" Harry brightened at the thought. The werewolf had his Marauder's Map. If Harry could get that back…

"I cannot invite him into Hogwarts, Harry. As a registered werewolf he's not allowed within five hundred feet of the grounds."

"You could set the lessons in Hogsmeade then!"

"Remus is at present indisposed." The headmaster shook his head, and Harry's excitement deflated like a popped balloon. "Please trust that I will find someone acceptable." He offered Harry's wand to him.

Carefully taking it from him to holster it, Harry was doing his best not to glower at the elderly wizard. "Then what about my Invisibility Cloak?"

Dumbledore lifted a green pouch into view. "I am afraid that you will have to earn back the privilege of possessing it."

Harry opened his mouth to complain, but saw the deathly serious look from the headmaster. "When will that happen?"

"When you are better equipped for it."

There was a sudden flare of green fire, causing Harry to spin on a heel to aim his wand at the…letter which had fluttered out of the fireplace. "Ah! Harry, you'll want to know about this." The headmaster with a quick flick of his hand summoned it to him, and then sliced open the side of the abnormally white envelope with a letter opener. He unfolded the bleached-white copy paper and read. At the sight of it, Harry's first thought was  _Muggle business_ , but what did Harry want with Muggles? He hadn't interacted with Muggles since he'd stopped living with Snape. "Wonderful! This should allay Igor's and Madam Maxime's concerns."

"What is it, sir?"

The twinkle in Professor Dumbledore's eyes was entirely too mischievous. "You are officially dual-enrolled with the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Witchery. Once the U.S. Department of Magical Resources approves the participation of the Salem Institute in the Quadwizard Tournament, then you will compete on their behalf. Severus will give you the long-distance learning packets once they arrive."

Harry was at a loss for words. "I'm not a witch."

"The name is quite deceptive. It was established as a school only for witches, but they've accepted wizards since 1977. Their funding from the Muggle end of their government necessitated that they comply with something called Title IX. Because the Salem Institute's reputation is well-known, they chose not to change their name."

'Why' kept pounding through Harry's mind, until he rolled over the bits of information Moody and the headmaster had shared. "Durmstrang and Beauxbatons wanted out because of Hogwarts' unfair advantage with two champions."

The headmaster smiled. "Very good, Harry. They would have been forced to compete because of the magical contract, but at the loss of any such tournaments taking place again and with it, the possibility of future international cooperation."

"Why a school from North America? Surely there's one that's closer."

"I sent a letter out to many schools, Harry, but as suspected, they balked at a foreigner representing their establishment."

"They couldn't have been very impressed by me."

The old wizard's body seemed to sag. "It's perfectly rational to refuse to help in a matter of international importance. The risks associated mean that they might take blame later for sanctioning an accidental champion's involvement and their prestigious reputation may be lessened or, more reasonably, you represent Hogwarts' curriculum and not their own. Even if you won, it would not be a true reflection of their school." His warm smile came to being once more. "Thankfully, my recent chance meeting with the Principal of the Salem Institute at an international convention of educators and administrators last summer helped immensely. I had feared Principal Oke would refuse."

"Sir, how did they respond so quickly? It's only been a day."

"Express International Post makes judicious use of Floo traveling, Apparation, and Muggle Technology to hop the pond between continents. Principal Oke was guaranteed to receive my letter within twelve hours of my sending it, as did the other head administrators of other educational establishments. Naturally it was only good manners to pay postage for a hasty response." A clock chimed and the elderly wizard clapped his hands together. "Ah! It's nearly time for our evening meal. You should make yourself presentable."

"Yes, sir…" Harry was brought up short when the fireplace suddenly flamed green. Professor Dumbledore had raised himself up, approaching the sooty figure for a friendly handshake.

"Right on schedule, Ms. Oke."

A soft ringing sound echoed from her fingers, and the soot disappeared, revealing a Muggle's pinstriped suit, medium length black hair that was spiked in odd curves away from her forehead, and bright red heels that made a sharp noise against the stone when she stepped out of the fireplace. The American witch did not appear to be wearing make-up. "Of course." She stated, lacking the thick twang Harry had expected from someone from the States. She shook the headmaster's hand firmly, once. "Is this your school's current character-builder?"

Her grass green eyes focused upon Harry, not even flicking up to look at his scar. Harry did not feel threatened nor did he feel that she was sizing him up, but Harry wasn't precisely sure what she'd meant by 'character builder'.

Professor Dumbledore moved aside placing a light hand on Harry's shoulder. "Oh, not at all. As I've written earlier, Harry is an exemplary student, particularly in Charms and Potions. It is simply that trouble has a way of finding him."

"Of course, my mistake." She stated with an amused, knowing flicker to the old headmaster. She held out a hand to Harry. "Hello, Harry. Or should I refer to you as 'Potter'? I'm not exactly familiar with social conventions across the Atlantic."

He shook her hand, noticing that they were calloused despite their deceptive daintiness. Several plain bands of silver adorned her fingers, possibly what had caused the ringing noise from earlier. "I prefer Potter, until I get to know you better, Ms. Oke."

"Very well then, Potter. Seems as if this is a yearly event for you," she observed with a raised eyebrow.

"Not everyone has the chance to live with a Dark Lord's grudge." Harry looked between the headmaster, who was content to remain silent, and the principal. "Thank you for allowing me to represent your school on such short notice."

Dropping a hand to the pocket of her slim slacks, Principal Oke made a humming noise. "It's my pleasure. Our Magical community isn't taken very seriously since it was only established give or take five centuries, and we don't make any effort to have a government separate from the Muggles—well, ever since that major coup totally shattered the Central Coven during the period of Western Expansion, there didn't seem to be a point at keeping things apart, and we can react quicker to disasters if we're fully enmeshed with the Muggle government." Ms. Oke took a glance about the headmaster's office, not the slightest out of breath. "So! This is a good opportunity for us to set roots down in the Old World. I'm sure you'll do well." She looked at the paintings, eyes sharp with interest. "Say, do I get to meet your R.A.?"

"R.A.?" Harry asked.

"The person in charge of your dormitory."

"You mean, Professor Snape?"

A shark-like grin settled onto her features. It didn't look very friendly. "Yes."

"You'll be able to meet him during dinner tonight, Ms. Oke. Since you've found Harry satisfactory, I must insist that he hurry along to get ready for the feast tonight." Professor Dumbledore smiled at her, back to his cheerful self.

"Don't stay on my account," the witch said, flicking her fingers dismissively.

"Right," Harry said, "Do you think it'd be alright if I left that way, professor?" He pointed to the door leading to Snape's office.

The headmaster turned a bit to meet Salazar Slytherin's gaze, and the painting immediately left his frame. "That should be acceptable," he murmured and then turned towards the principal. "Professor McGonagall would be more than happy to provide a short tour of Hogwarts before dinner is served in the Great Hall."

"Awesome. Can't wait to see the place."

As the two adults made small talk, Harry pulled on the old-fashioned latch and the door swung open. He closed it behind him and waited for his eyes to adjust to the ghostly dim light before he made his way down the musty well-like stairwell. At the bottom, there was no sign of a door. He whispered, " _Open_ ," but nothing happened. Just as he was feeling over the wall for any sign of a seam, the wall cracked open, sliding forth a few inches before swinging away from Harry. Head Boy Wynch looked down at him and then left the closet lined with shelves of rolled parchments. Following the Head Boy, Harry saw that Snape was already at his desk grading a satchel of vials.

"Until the tournament is over, you are to be the standard that all other Slytherins ascribe to, Potter. Fail to do so and you will find your three month-long period of detention—beginning tonight—so mind-numbingly boring that you'll wish someone had cast a Stinging Hex on you to keep your thoughts occupied."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. Without looking back, he exited the office and headed into the common room, which had become an explosion of frenzied movement. Stunned, he watched everything with a bit of helpless awe.

"The Grey Grace is ba—"

"Dunghead, what have I told you about that title," Draco's acerbic voice cut across the common room. Most everyone had a moment where they stopped to listen and continued when they weren't being addressed. "There's nothing the least bit _Grey_ about Harry. Stop your nonsense before I dunk your head in gravy."

"Harry, Goyle's pulled out your dress robes and made them fit to be seen," Sally-Anne said to his left, startling him when she seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "There's been a mad rush to get everything ready since there's only been one Champion Introduction in the history of the tournament. The same three schools have competed over and over again since its inception a millennia ago. There'll be a table set up for you, so you can sit by the Principal of the Salem Institute." Now she leaned in a bit more furtively among the noise and rush of the common room, her tone sharp and biting, "Mind your hands, and for the love of Godric, order water, not Pumpkin Juice, and maybe you won't embarrass yourself."

Harry nodded, trying to absorb the strange advice. "Keep elbows tucked in. Drink water tonight. I can remember that."

Sally-Anne nodded brusquely. "Now head upstairs before Draco decides he ought to leave the command post to help you."

Taking the steps two at a time, Harry hastily made it to the fourth door, which was slightly ajar. Inside he saw a hovering pair of black silk, pinstriped dress robes with the sigil of the Slytherin house patched to the front right breast of it. A black badge, rimmed with bright green, had white, stylized letters—SI—embroidered into it and was patched onto the left front pocket. Harry shoved the door open, causing Goyle to stutter. "The robes—your robes—"

"Those aren't mine." After a quick check through his wardrobe turned up nothing, Harry tapped the unlocking sequence on his trunk and tore the lid open, digging through it. With an irritated slam of the lid, he turned a sour look at Goyle. "What's Draco done with my dress robes?"

"He's adjusted them," came the mutter. "Said you'd embarrass yourself if you didn't wear the proper—"

"Bloody prat," Harry growled resentfully. "Yeah, my robes were too warm, but a Cooling Charm fixed that. I  _liked_  them." He slipped off his Spellfast Cloak and hung it up in the wardrobe, thinking it would be tasteless to wear it at an official dinner with international importance. Drawing his wand, Harry Switched his school robes for the floating ones. He looked down at himself. A white pleated handkerchief was artfully arranged in the only front pocket of the robes. The sleeves fit more like a Muggle suit than the loose ones he was more used to, making the robes fit on him more like a tailored silk jacket. Beneath it was a cotton white, long-sleeved button-down shirt, overlaid with a black vest and green tie pinstriped with silver. What he'd assumed were slacks was actually a pair of dark grey denim trousers. His beat-up stained and off-white trainers stuck out like an eyesore at the bottom. With the image of what he wanted firmly in mind, he tapped the heel of each one, transfiguring them into sleek black dress shoes. Holstering his wand, he looked at himself in the mirror across the room before turning to his roommate.

All that was left was a strange hat in Goyle's fidgeting hands. "What is that?"

"Milly called it a fedora. It's somethin' American Muggles like to wear. Said you can't wear it while you eat or when you're paying respects to someone." He offered the wide-brimmed hat to Harry. "Boss said to burn it, but I thought you might like it."

Harry took it. It had an indent at the top where the middle fingers could rest to hold it. He set it on his head and dropped his hands at his sides. There were long side-slits in the robes so that he could tuck his hands into his trousers if he wanted. "How silly do I look?"

"Only a bit."

"How steamed do you think Draco will get?"

"Very."

"Good." Harry left the room. When he stepped into the common room, he was still getting used to the unfamiliar lightness of what was likely the Salem Institute's standard-issue school robes. It was much more constrictive than he was used to, pulling in ways that the Hogwarts robes didn't.

Out of the frenzy of activity came a sharp, loud whistle. Harry narrowed his eyes at a group of sixth year witches, who'd gotten the most distracted by his entrance. The others seemed to be more furtive with their goggling. He didn't know where Sally-Anne had gone.

"I told Goyle to set that monstrosity aflame. Tsk. I knew I should've had Crabbe do it instead." Draco adjusted Harry's shirt collar and tie and then brushed down the shoulders of Harry's robes. Stepping back, he nodded as if the uniform passed his inspection. "It's adequate. Black is a good color on you.  _Scourgify._ " Harry's scuff-ed up dress shoes became shiny. "Now, if you could lose the hat…"

"No."

Draco looked as if he'd swallowed a bug. "If you're going to have that on your head, then you might as well wear it right." He pinched the brim as if it were a diseased carcass and drew it down slightly at an angle over Harry's right brow. "There."

"Dinner's in half an hour. His Grace should go now, sir," said a squeaky first year.

"You heard her. Mustn't keep them waiting."

With a finger, Harry pushed the brim up so he could better see and nearly laughed at Draco's annoyed expression.

"Crabbe, Goyle. Be sure our champion has a proper escort."

Turning on his heel, Harry left with a casual wave goodbye with hardly a look at either of his 'escorts'.


	9. The Notorious Rita Skeeter

When Harry arrived in the Entrance Hall, Principal Oke was waiting for him. She turned away from the house elf, which disappeared with a snap, and greeted him with a smile. "You look good," she said.

"Thank you, Ms. Oke." When she stood there looking like she hadn't a care in the world, Harry queried, "Is there something you wished to say?"

"You know, Mr. Dumbledore is a really sweet guy, but he's not the best primary source." Ms. Oke's tone wasn't nearly as condescending as certain other adults Harry had met, but she did have the air of demand about her. She crossed her arms and gave Harry a firm look. "He didn't say why you had the crazy idea that you were being haunted by a dead Dark Lord."

"His spirit is able to possess people. That's how he almost killed me three years ago."

"Weird," she said, her black lacquered nails tapping along her arms. "You would think that would make national news. Hm."

For a moment, Harry didn't know what to say. "I was a bit laid up at the time to care. Wizarding Britain was more concerned about which relative would adopt me." He knew they would be late to their own special feast by the number of latecomers, mostly Slytherins, who were slipping into the Great Hall, but when Harry made a move to enter, the adult moved with him. He shot a bemused look at her. "We ought not to be late, Ms. Oke."

"Every guest school gets a flashy entrance," the witch said with a grin. "Do you know any gymnastics?"

The memories where the twenty Beauxbatons students and twenty Durmstrang students paraded into the Great Hall came to Harry's mind. With only himself, Salem Institute's entrance was going to look pathetically bad in comparison. "No, and I don't know any special tricks. Well…" That wasn't quite true. "I doubt you would want your school to be connected to a Parselmouth since the last eight became Dark Lords."

Ms. Oke's eyes fluttered in surprise. "I sure lucked out. You're a snake-talker, wow!"

He had not expected her reaction and shifted uncomfortably as she looked him over with new eyes. The sound of the heavy double doors opening to a silent Great Hall caused Harry to take a great swallow of air. He opened and closed his hands several times. He glanced up at the principal.

"Do our school proud, Mr. Champion."

Pushed gently forward, Harry slipped into the regal swagger of a Longbottom like a second skin. Eyes were on him, the breath of a hundred classmates and visitors held in expectant awe. Ahead of him, the staff table had been curved like the shaft of a bow, and before that was a shorter table shaped like a horseshoe which had replaced the Goblet of Fire. The smells of dinner were overpowering, causing Harry's stomach to ache in expectation. The tables were bare except for the dishware and cutlery.

The Hogwarts House banners, once lining the walls, had been taken down and replaced with grey, black, red, or powder blue swaths of fabric. Behind the staff table, there were four main banners, each representing a different school. The Hogwarts banner, displaying all four houses behind an H, was between the Durmstrang one, which had a black, two-headed eagle on a red background, and the Beauxbatons powder blue one with the golden crossed wands and stars. To the far right, a new banner had joined the others; on a black background, there was a Star Rune of Protection in white with two sheaves of golden wheat on either side of it, altogether forming a clever rune for safe lodging.

A few steps into the Great Hall, there came a shuffling behind Harry. Fingers snapped with each step he took. Puzzled, Harry stopped and took a look back; all noise ceased. The faces of his sixth and seventh year housemates stared back from their frozen positions, some with anxious gazes but the rest were defiant. They were still in Hogwarts robes, except the black color had been replaced with the same pinstriped design which adorned Harry's jacket.

The other students looked rather taken in by the sporadic procession, breath held in anticipation.

Realizing he was disrupting the 'flashy entrance' by the amused smirk Ms. Oke shot at him between the shoulders of Warrington and Prefect Sykes, Harry set his jaw and spun on his foot, determined to make it to the table of champions and their accompanying administrators.

The snapping was back, but this time more frenetic and asymmetric to Harry's steps. At the sound of humming, Harry resisted the urge to pause and scowl at his classmates. Occasionally they enacted casual acrobatics across the stones or vaulted across the Hogwarts tables using unoccupied space on the benches to propel themselves. They had spread out across the Great Hall between the long tables, following at Harry's pace. It was bad enough that Harry was the center of attention; did they have to make him dull in comparison? Shrugging his shoulders up slightly, Harry tilted the funny hat down on his head to hide the embarrassed flush on his face and forced his feet forward at a blistering pace. The snapping was almost musical, speeding up to keep with his pace.

As he began to take the three steps to the Champion table, great bangs filled the air, lights flashing. Silver snakes decorated the ceiling; quick as lightning, the brood coalesced into the pattern of the Salem Institutes's insignia, the protective rune spinning like a wheel. Principal Oke pressed a hand against Harry's shoulder, directing him to the empty chair at the end of the horseshoe-like table where the other champions were seated. So he wouldn't be sitting next to Ms. Oke? Harry gratefully sank into it as the adult moved to her own place on the other end of the table. Beside Harry, the Beauxbatons champion looked a bit bored by the entrance as she fiddled with a golden goblet. Diggory and Delacour sat on opposite sides of the Durmstrang champion, who looked rather calm all things considered.

When the snakes exploded and sent sparks of light in all directions, a great crash of applause and screaming filled the air as the Slytherins took their seats. The leftover smoke hanging in the ceiling looked startlingly like a basilisk until a standing Professor Dumbledore cleared the air with a swipe of his wand.

"Eat, drink, and be merry! We have several exciting months ahead of us!" Professor Dumbledore announced to the crowd of expectant faces and then re-took his seat beside Diggory right as food appeared before them. "Madam Maxime, what a lovely scarf."

"It is woven with ze feathers of an Eldritch," the headmistress responded demurely, a large, beringed hand stroking the royal purple and blue feather boa. She'd worn a teal, sleeveless dress to complement it. Harry had never seen such large biceps on a woman before; they reminded him of the adverts for gym memberships on the telly. Madam Maxime sat between Ms. Oke and High Master Karkaroff.

"And Igor, have you trimmed your beard recently?"

"Why yes, Albus. It was growing too wild." The Dark wizard chuckled, eyes traveling over the headmaster's long and somewhat disheveled beard. Karkaroff seemed to genuinely like the headmaster, judging by the way he didn't seem to mind sitting by him.

The headmaster had a twinkle in his eye. With a smile, he offered Diggory a dried date from a dish that had appeared along with a large selection of foreign dishes. Harry took off the fedora and set it into his lap.

A plate of thick hamburgers was before Harry, while very French dishes appeared in front of Delacour. Harry would've been happier with fish and chips, but he couldn't complain when it was food he recognized. He placed a juicy hamburger onto his plate and forked salad onto the meat, covering it with the soft bun and mustard. Harry reached for his glass of pumpkin juice, before he remembered what Sally-Anne had said. Keeping his elbows tucked in, he frowned at the goblet until it emptied itself and refilled with clear liquid. The hamburger was better than others he'd had in the Muggle world.

Useless chitchat passed over his head. Krum said he was an only child, so did Diggory, who also added that his father worked at the British Ministry and that his mother crafted models of magical creatures for a hobby. Delacour in a tight-lipped manner spoke about her grandmother, mother, and little sister. Harry spoke very little about the Dursleys, opting to talk about Neville, Mrs. Longbottom, and Sirius Black.

"Sirius Black?" Diggory echoed oddly. "The deranged wizard who terrorized us last year? I didn't know he was your godfather."

"It's a matter of public record," Harry said stiffly. "And he's apologized to Ron Weasley about the incident in Gryffindor Tower." Whether his godfather had apologized to the Fat Lady or not was not an uncertainty Harry was willing to air.

"Good on him. I heard he's in negotiations to be detained somewhere other than Azkaban," Diggory said lightly, "I do hope the following trial absolves him of any crimes."

Harry hadn't read any newspapers since he left Longbottom Manor, and Draco hadn't bothered to inform him about his godfather. Harry's eyes met the headmaster's.

"Evidence has surfaced to prove his innocence beyond a doubt," Professor Dumbledore said with a nod.

"What was 'e charged with?" Delacour asked. She leaned towards Harry with keen interest, her wisps of blond hair swaying from the movement. Harry blinked at her a bit stupidly, before he realized that those who were infamous in one country might not be known elsewhere. If that were the case, why hadn't Sirius run off to a far-away country to hide?

"An unthinkable number of murders," Karkaroff muttered, tossing back his head as he drank the last of the amber fluid in his crystal decanter.

Before Delacour's pert lips could impart more questions, Madam Maxime swiped a hand gracefully across. "Zat is inappropriate for dinner conversation, Miss Delacour," she said rather loudly, and the part-veela witch pursed her lips into a frown and returned to the same ramrod posture.

The ex-Death Eater next to the headmaster shrugged, spearing a chunk of roast, and chomped onto it. Krum's dark eyes kept darting around the table as he listened avidly without speaking. This must be how he was while polite, Harry thought. The Durmstrang student had been quite boisterous among the Slytherins.

"S'why I like the criminal justice system we've got in America. Innocent before proven guilty." Ms. Oke toasted the air.

"Doesn't your country have a higher incarceration rate than Bulgaria?" Karkaroff said harshly.

"We actually catch our criminals," the principal snapped.

"Only the stupid ones."

"Ms. Oke, might I suggest you try the dried apricot?" The cool-headed headmaster gestured towards the large collection of dried fruit. "They're quite delectable."

Instead of responding to Karkaroff's barbed comment, a medallion-sized bit of fruit was plucked up, and Ms. Oke nibbled on it.

"Sir, I noticed you didn't talk about your family," Harry said. Karkaroff had spoken about his brother the merchant and nephew the Dragon Paternus, and Madam Maxime about the orphanage she was raised in, before Diggory had derailed the conversation to Harry's godfather.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. There was a flicker of something like regret, but it was so fleeting Harry wondered if he even saw it. "I have a surviving brother. Neither of us settled down to have children of our own I'm afraid." He turned to Ms. Oke. "You're the seventh of nine children, if I recall correctly."

"Yes, only one sister. Dad's the majority owner of a well-known Muggle corporation. Mom's a witch from an established magical family, the McIlwains. Firstborn's the only squib among us. He's set to inherit the family business."

"Eet must be difficult to 'ave eight siblings," Delacour said sympathetically.

"It wasn't a hardship at all. The mansion where I grew up was spacious and we each had an army of house-staff and tutors to keep us happy. Didn't even have to see each other if we didn't want to." The adult took another dried apricot from the bowl, ignoring the spread of desserts which had replaced their main course. Quite suddenly, two large metallic rings landed softly over a few spikes of her hair. Ms. Oke tilted her figure slightly to the side. A third boomeranged past her, missing its target to hit the base of Harry's goblet.

Harry's hand darted forward before he caught himself. Hand clenching uselessly, he watched as it sloshed over the tablecloth and towards Delacour, who did not react quick enough to avoid being drenched. Krum immediately choked on his drink and desperately beat his chest to clear it, while Diggory snuck glances at Delacour, who was getting attention from the closest seated students in the hall. Instead of looking through the sudden sheerness of Delacour's dress, Harry quickly spelled a Drying Charm on her before she had a chance to react. Then he picked up the strange ring that had caused the mess to inspect it.

"Zank 'oo. Eet is good zat 'oo drink water. Zis is my favorite dress," Delacour said, without a bit of embarrassment, while the two gaping champions tried to look everywhere but at her, which was odd since they had spent so much time staring at her chest moments ago. With a screeching noise of wood on stone, Krum angled his chair away from her and tucked himself under the table to the point that his abdomen was touching the edge. Diggory was rolling the goblet between his hands like he was working clay.

Leaning closer, she peered at the object in Harry's hand and then up at him curiously. "What is zat?"

"A Fanged Frisbee, I think. Modified to be hollow without fangs," Harry flipped it over a few times and then passed it over to her awaiting hands.

"You will apologize to our guests for your unthinkable rudeness!"

Harry's head snapped up. Professor McGonagall was positively livid. Harry had to wonder why the Weasley twins hadn't acted out sooner. They didn't seem the type to be bothered by a Howler, or three.

Having not bothered to remove the rings caught in the stiff, wicked curves styled in her hair, Ms. Oke stood. "Looks like that's my cue." With a grin of delight, the adult hopped down the steps and faced the twins who looked as if they might laugh at any moment at the sight of her.

"We're oh so sorry, Principal Oke," the twins caroused in a completely irreverent way and turned to their fellow students and visitors. "We're sorry friends, comrades, bosom buddies for disturbing the merrymaking of the feast."

Professor McGonagall's expression remained stiff and unamused. "That will do. Now—"

"Excuse me, professor." Ms. Oke raised a hand as if she might be missed. As soon as Professor McGonagall looked at her, she dropped it and smiled brightly. "Since I'm the one they directly disrespected, may I say something before you send them away?"

The deputy headmistress straightened where she stood. "By all means, Ms. Oke. It is the policy of this school to have the offenders punished by those they have wronged."

"Thank you."

Murmuring from the students erupted as they turned to one another, guessing at what the principal would do. The witch smiled, and her fingers clicked together, letting out a chime from the silver rings. Her fingers nimbly traced out runic patterns too quickly for Harry to see. "So. You must be Hogwarts' character builders." The two rings from her hair lifted and floated by each of her upraised hands, turning slowly end over end.

"Character builders?" The twins echoed.

"We do build character, don't we George?"

"Oh, we do!"

Another chime and the rings came apart. They thinned and lengthened into something looking quite like belts except much shorter and then swiftly settled around their necks like dog collars. Upon these collars ringing their throats was written, **Property of Hogwarts _._**  "There we go," Ms. Oke said to herself clapping her hands in a way that her fingers met with her palms. "It's a good look for you."

"What is this?" Fred looked more dismayed than his twin who looked amused and thoughtful. "What's your game?"

"No game," the adult said raising her hands in a gesture of 'I mean not harm'. Several students giggled.

"Oh dear, Fred. She means business."

Harry snickered. The other champions were quiet. Karkaroff was muttering about the unprofessionalism of what he was seeing, while Professor McGonagall didn't look very pleased with Ms. Oke's method of punishment.

"Deal with it," came the adult's flat reply, "Those stay on until you apologize correctly."

The twins blinked at her and then turned impish grins upon each other. "George, I think I learned something new about her."

"You're right, Fred."

They stepped closer and sang out, "You're a pervert!"

Professor McGonagall gaped; her face was coloring, her lips thinning. Worse yet, Ms. Oke's smiling expression never faltered, even as Madam Maxime complained about their " 'orrible manners". Into the stunned silence of the Great Hall came, "Oh please Princess Oke, we are ever so sorry for saying such a thing! We'd wash our mouths out if we thought it'd help!"

An incredulous twin turned to Fred.

"I didn't say that!" Fred jerked a pointed finger towards him. "You did!"

"Did not. I would never say that. Those Yanks don't have royalty."

"Leave it to a Yank," George's collar announced. "They're bloody brilliant."

The twins stopped and stared at each other for a beat before they turned in unison to look at Ms. Oke with a gleam in their eyes that hadn't been there before.

George proclaimed, "Yes, Yanks are amazing!" They performed a mocking bow towards her.

"Amazingly  _boring_ ," Fred said with a smirk, "These trinkets are child's play."

"That is quite  _enough_ ," The Head of Gryffindor House said with dangerous sharpness.

Before the Transfigurations professor got another word in, Ms. Oke flicked a finger and then both of the collars burst into an obnoxiously patriotic song, about the 'land of the free' and 'home of the brave'. Once the song had gotten underway the twins had started adding their own flourishes. The principal seemed to be orchestrating the number with her fingers. Once the two had finished, she clapped. "Fabulous! What a wonderful performance! Bravo!"

They didn't appear to know how to respond. It wasn't often that they'd been met head-on by someone in authority, who didn't yell at them on sight. Professor Dumbledore was the only adult that readily came to mind.

"I'm sure you want to run along to plot your revenge, don't you?" Ms. Oke sent them a wink.

"Don't encourage them!" A scandalized voice called out from the Gryffindor table, which caused a ripple of amusement. Harry thought it might have been Hermione.

The twin Gryffindors gave a silent, stiff-backed Professor McGonagall a toothy grin. "You heard her, professor! We've no time to waste!" With a cackle, the Weasley twins had scooped an elbow from the other and skipped their way out.

"Thanks again for letting me handle that," the principal said to her, once the twins disappeared.

"It might be best if you leave any future discipline to me. Please excuse me." The deputy headmistress gathered her robes and quickly left the Great Hall.

"They should be preoccupied a while." Ignoring the look of disbelief from Diggory and any other Hogwarts students who had overheard her, the principal took her seat to finish desert.

Harry liked the adult well enough to say across the span between them, "Fred and George are likely to have something cooked up by morning."

"Oh?" Ms. Oke's white, crooked teeth were bared. "Can't wait."

The rest of the meal was reduced to small talk, boring compared to the brief mayhem stirred up by the twins. Delacour was by no means warm towards Harry as she spoke fondly of her upbringing in the magical wilds of France. However, she would ask about his past now and then. It wasn't that Harry didn't want to reciprocate; he simply didn't think that talking about his childhood with the Dursleys would make good dinner conversation, a polite habit drilled into him by Mrs. Longbottom. He kept mention of them short and brief as possible, though this made Delacour more persistent in questions. Her features seemed lovelier the longer Harry spoke to her, despite the complete lack of a smile. Harry was alright with that; Lockhart had ruined him for perfect smiles.

Though curious about the muted and delayed effect of a part-veela's presence on him, Harry certainly had no urge to throw himself upon her, let alone stare at her stupidly like Krum and Diggory had. When Dumbledore stood up and wished everyone a good night, Harry was quite ready to retire to his room for some much needed rest.

The students dispersed, venturing out the Great Hall. Harry placed the fedora onto his head as he stood.

"Bon nuit, 'Arry. May 'oo 'ave sweet dreams."

"You as well." Harry didn't have the heart to tell her to call him by his family name, as he watched her and Madam Maxime join the other students in powder blue to leave. He spent a bit of time pulling the jacket down and the wrist cuffs out since they had bunched up from the time he spent sitting.

A hand lightly tapped his shoulder. It was Ms. Oke. "Tomorrow I'll evaluate the classes you've already taken to see how they line up with Salem Institute's Standards of Excellence. I may have to supplement the Distance Learning packets that're due to arrive with Friday's mail. I'll see you around, Potter." With a little wave tossed over her shoulder, the principal fell into the throng of people departing.

Harry had a crawling sensation; he looked around and caught Professor Moody staring at him. The loony DADA professor toasted his flask towards Harry.

"How did you like my choreography?"

"Draco, it would have been better if you had actually told me to do something. I felt like an idiot, swaggering in front of everyone." Harry took the steps down to join Sally-Anne who was waiting patiently. Draco fell on the other side of him, trailed by Goyle and Crabbe.

Sally-Anne said, "I thought you looked unflappably brilliant. And you followed my advice too."

"What would have happened if I hadn't?"

"A hard slap to the face and a scream of 'You debauched Englishman!' halfway through dinner."

Draco snickered. "Told him to keep his hands to himself?"

"It would've been accidental, but intention doesn't matter much when a lady is fondled," Sally-Anne said. Crabbe and Goyle burst into giggles behind them. She scoffed, "I doubt you'd think it was so amusing if it was Finnigan who groped you."

"I'd knock his teeth ou'," Goyle said seriously.

"And you don't think a bruising slap could do that?" Sally-Anne shook her head. " _Boys._  Why is it they act like they're the only ones who get violent?"

Harry shook his head. "You should ask me about the time Hermione struck Draco."

His roommate sneered, "Filthy Muggleborn."

Sally-Anne smiled, "She's told me already. I'm sorry I missed it."

Draco said something under his breath, but Harry didn't catch it and Sally-Anne wasn't glaring daggers so it couldn't have been foul.

They made their way to the Slytherin Dungeons and parted ways.

* * *

If Harry ever thought that matters would improve once his schoolmates got used to the idea of him being champion, the following day would have shown him how mistaken he was. Fortunately, he never gave the other Houses the benefit of the doubt. It became immediately clear during breakfast that, unlike his housemates, the rest of the school continued to believe that Harry had entered himself into the Quadwizard Tournament. He had, sort of, but that didn't count since he hadn't been chosen from the pool of Hogwarts entrants.

Some of Harry's low-level anxiety about the day was aggravated by the letter from Dumbledore telling him that his unnamed DADA tutor would be waiting outside the classroom. Yet, some of his mood was eased by the twins' failed attempt to prank Ms. Oke; breakfast was interrupted by an almighty roar from the Durmstrang high master. When Harry popped up out of his seat to see what was going on, he saw the adult covered in bright red-and-gold paint—all while the collars on the pranksters' necks sang compliments to Ms. Oke's impeccable reflexes. After a long-winded apology to the high master, Professor McGonagall grabbed each oddly quiet Weasley twin by an ear and marched them straight out the Great Hall.

Harry found himself grinning all the way to his Ancient Runes class aftewards. As usual Sally-Anne and Hermione were chatting to one another about a multitude of subjects, flitting from one to another and oftentimes leaving Harry dizzy.

A familiar sandy blond was already seated and chatting with Blaise Zabini when Harry, Hermione, and Sally-Anne entered. "Theo!" Sally-Anne rushed to Theodore's side, eyeing him for new injuries from his latest Moon Change. "How was it?"

Theodore grinned broadly, "Fine, I'm finally getting the feel for Da's business."

For some strange reason, Harry wanted to sit in the front row, several chairs over from Theodore and Sally-Anne. Maybe he wanted to give them space…? He unpacked his bag.

"How is it that they haven't started dating?" Hermione murmured as Harry's friends chatted. Zabini didn't seem put off in the slightest when he was suddenly interrupted. He made notations in the margins of the primary Ancient Runes textbook.

"Something about silly hang-ups," Harry said.

Hermione startled. She must not have meant that question for him. "If it's something like that, it won't be long then." The Gryffindor had a wistful look on her face as she gazed at Sally-Anne before she settled into the chair next to Harry.

"Hi Dunning, Lewis," Harry greeted the blonde and brunette who'd taken a seat by him. The glances they spared him held strong disapproval. He glanced around and saw that any Hufflepuff entering the room noticed him and then proceeded to ignore him. It was plain to him that the few Badgers in Professor Babbling's class felt that Harry had stolen enough attention from their champion; a feeling aggravated, perhaps, by the fact that Diggory had not had a formal introduction, unlike the rest of them. Harry garnered similar treatment from the Ravenclaws, with the single exception of Padma Patil. The others clearly thought that Harry had been desperate to earn himself a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting his name. Slytherins were supposed to be an ambitious lot after all.

Professor Babbling came in, and class began. Harry was immediately aware that he was paralyzed; surely Hermione or someone else would notice? This one was perhaps the most sinister he'd encountered. There were no sounds or flashy flickers as other Traps had.

As the professor lectured and showed slides, Harry's fingers had begun to hurt as if they'd been hit with a Stinging Hex. Within ten minutes, the pain had traveled up to his shoulders and had intensified to that of a broken bone. Obviously, Harry was having trouble concentrating, which wasn't good considering he couldn't take notes.

It was about this point that Professor Babbling stood in front of Harry's desk within view of everyone else. "Mr. Potter, is there something you would like to share with us?"

"Share?" He ground out, surprised he could speak. Hermione frowned at him.

"You stubborn boy, why didn't you signal that you were caught in a Runic Trap? It was set to go twenty minutes ago."

"I didn't want to interrupt your lesson," Harry said distantly, feeling stupid for assuming that he couldn't speak.

"Liar," she said leaning forward with her dark brown eyes fixed on Harry's.

Harry looked down at his arms as the pain clawed its way down his back. "I was stupid to have been caught."

With an aggravated huff, Professor Babbling immediately drew a Runic Pattern with her wand in the air, similar to how Tom Riddle had written his name in the Chamber of Secrets, and swished her wand to fling the hexagram towards the desk. The moment it slipped through his arms, Harry slumped forward. He clamped down on his throat before he made a sound.

"Your assignment is on the board. Class is dismissed!" She called out.

Harry kept his head on the desk, listening to the shuffling footsteps through the wood of his desk. It was odd and echoey.

"Harry, why don't we go see Madam Pomfrey?" It was Hermione. "You don't look well."

"He will be fine in another few minutes. I need to speak to Mr. Potter  _alone_ ," said the Study of Ancient Runes professor.

"We should go." Sally-Anne was attempting to draw the Gryffindor away.

"Look at him! You watched the counter-pattern she created! She  _tortured_  him, and I…  _I didn't notice_!"

Harry glanced up and saw that Sally-Anne had taken Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her towards the exit. There was calm whispering from Sally-Anne that Harry couldn't catch. "No! I can't leave him!" Hermione had an outraged expression on her face, before Theodore had shut the door on her.

Professor Babbling knelt next to the desk to better watch Harry's expressions. "Sometimes… you may find yourself in situations that  _require_  outside help in order to survive."

It was a lesson Snape had tried and somewhat failed to impart on him. Harry closed his eyes understanding the rationale. He tried to reach out to others, but it was easier to take care of them instead. What would shake the belief that to be alive meant unavoidable suffering? Pain wasn't pleasant, not by a long shot, but it proved that he was still present in the world.

"…I was informed that a similar Runic Pattern was discovered on the desk you 'preferred' in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. It was designed to hold you for the duration of the class when activated and nothing more."

Unsure what to say, Harry flicked his eyes up to hers.

"You are aware that whoever drugged you with that Concoction of Bewitchment could have done worse."

Harry shuddered at the thought and looked away. "I know."

The adult's shoulders pulled back as she straightened from her crouch. "Every Wednesday you will find yourself inexplicably drawn into a Runic Trap, Mr. Potter. It will be your responsibility to tell someone before it triggers nastier side effects."

Harry thought he might be returning to a more normal state and flexed his fingers whose joints had finally stopped aching. "And if I break it first…?"

She sighed. "If you don't, do you understand what you must do?"

"Yes, professor."

"You may go then." Professor Babbling returned to her desk, picking up a piece of parchment as Harry hobbled out of the room with his schoolbag clutched in his hands.

Theodore was waiting in the corridor for him. Sally-Anne had probably thought it'd be best to escort Hermione to lunch instead of letting her wait for Harry to appear. "You alright?"

"Yes," Harry lied.

His friend snorted, but didn't call him on it.

His two friends fussed over Harry during lunch, a fact that both humored and mortified him. If he'd known that this was would make Theodore and Sally-Anne focus their attention on him, Harry might have done something harmless to get it sooner. He rather missed them, a fierce sentiment he hadn't noticed until their presence was gone. Ensconced between them, their easy, no-strings company was a reprieve compared to the prat who usually kept it.

Across from the trio, Draco was of the mind that Harry should drop Ancient Runes and join Independent Potions Lab since it was an inevitable eventuality that Harry would be assigned potions work for detention. The idea of voluntarily signing up to be in Snape's class disgusted Harry. The quartet of witches as usual sat far away from Harry's group, though he caught Daphne glancing his way now and then. She had spent more time doing that ever since she discovered the cause to his rare black rages.

After lunch, Defense Against the Dark Arts followed, but Harry didn't stay for it. Before the class had started, Harry unfolded the apology letter he'd written—to show that it was free of any curses—and handed it to the grizzly-haired professor with a murmured confession.

"Only a good man would admit to something like  _this_ … To apologize? Well," Professor Moody's eyes roamed around the classroom, his mouth curled in contempt. "It was my own fault that I didn't catch the curse." Harry didn't jump when the gruff man barked out 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' It was a phrase he had come to expect. He nodded and headed to his exit instead of his desk.

"Oi, where're you goin'?" Goyle had a deeply troubled tone.

"Harry?" Sally-Anne frowned towards him.

"Elsewhere." He paused and flashed a grin at his year-mates. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Potter has special permission from the headmaster to have his lessons with someone else," Professor Moody announced, "And if I hear any complaining I'll take twenty points each! Now, as we were discussing last time the Unforgivables—"

Harry shut the door behind him, shutting out the disgruntled faces and muttering.

"Hello, Potter. Remember me?" A rail thin, dark-haired Ravenclaw witch stepped closer to him. She had the badge of Head Girl.

"Dresden, right?"

Julianne Dresden smiled. "I was told you needed a mentor for DADA class."

Harry nodded.

"Well then, let's find an appropriate unused classroom for our one and only lesson." They headed down the stairs to the ground floor.

"Only the one?"

"I meant to use this time for my own independent study for Potions. The headmaster promised to find someone by next week."

Harry doubted that the headmaster would be able to find someone reliable on such short notice. They entered the old Alchemy Classroom. With a quick spell, the dust they had kicked up upon entry was banished. And thus, Harry began practicing counter-curses and anti-hexes which nullified the effects of low-level curses and hexes. These spells, he was informed matter-of-factly, could save his life one day when he was incapacitated by a simple curse during a fight.

That evening after dinner, Harry changed into his old, secondhand set of robes that hadn't been Transfigured by Draco into the Salem Institute's uniform. Harry did have to adjust it a little since he'd grown another inch since he last wore it. Over the summer, Neville had taught Harry how to tailor his robes—using special tailoring Enchanted Tools—completely negating any need to buy new clothing to replace the ones he outgrew. When his robes had fit him after Dobby had gone to Diagon Alley, Harry had assumed that the house-elf had replaced his old robes. After Neville's lessons, it had made much more sense that Dobby had simply adjusted Harry's robes whenever they were laundered so they would continue to fit him as he grew.

Leaving through the portrait-hole, Harry met several other older housemates, many of whom were Quidditch teammates, in an auxiliary Potions lab. It was an unwritten rule not to talk about why a person had been assigned detention; bragging about such things was what Gryffindors did. As soon as Harry had been told to stir an extra-large batch of Dreamless Sleep Draught, he silently accepted the long-handled wooden paddle and went about his business. Warrington had been charged with monitoring the heat. Counting mentally, Harry slowly stirred six times anti-clockwise making the strokes particularly erratic to mix the ingredients more thoroughly and then stirred clockwise the same number. Once he finished, he removed the paddle, waiting for Warrington to adjust the heat.

Beside him, seventh years, Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick, were lugging the ingredients of the next batch of potion from the counter—this time it looked to be for a salve of some kind—that Urquhart had measured and counted. Behind Urquhart, were rows of younger Slytherins, grinding roots, beetles, and anything else required, filling up tubs that were then delivered to the two sixth years—Miles Bletchley and Graham Montague—in Urquhart's row, who were all quickly weighing out huge amounts of material. When they began to dump greenish fluid into the cauldron next, Harry knew it must be Zit-Clearing Salve; the stench of Bubotuber Pus was distinctive.

Waves of heat rolled from the potion he was tending. It was clarifying as it bubbled. Harry stirred again, counting to ten each time in opposite directions. As soon as it began to boil, he removed the paddle to set it into a bucket of Nullifying Solution, while Warrington dutifully turned off the heat. Harry watched the time tick by like a hawk. Seventh-year Adrian Pucey was stirring the cauldron next to him with a look of intense focus.

Warrington had pushed a wheel-less trolley next to the cauldron with an extremely large flask, which had a tap at the bottom. A massive cork sat by it and a plate of melted wax for proper sealing. "It's nearly done," Harry muttered to him. Pulling out his wand, he waved it over the potion to set it—something he had embarrassingly forgotten to do with his own during class and resulted in a substantial point deduction.

Warrington tapped a device hooked up to the cauldron which immediately tilted the set-up and poured the gelatinous potion into the awaiting flask. Within moments the cauldron was emptied and the flask was corked and sealed. Snape materialized from the shadows to inspect it. After a brief command, Warrington pushed it to a large storeroom of massive vials and flasks.

A pointed finger set Harry to stir another enormous cauldron. Harry looked over the instructions which also provided helpful tips to potion stirrers who wished to make high quality hundred-fold batches. With a tap of his wand he changed his Glaxxes to the tight-fitting athletic shape to protect his eyes. Then he swiped up a new long-handled paddle and a pair of thick gloves and set to work stirring the spicy-smelling Pepper-Up Potion, while a red-headed fifth year Harry had never spoken to before managed the intense heat required. She looked a bit like Ginny Weasley except taller and her eyes were hazel.

Sweat rolled down his face, soaking the collar of his shirt as he carefully stirred the slightly smoky, volatile potion. He banished any other thoughts besides the counting from his mind as he toiled on the potion which required a strange combination of stirs. Thirty-seven anti-clockwise, thirteen clock-wise. Let simmer three minutes. Twenty-nine clockwise, seventeen anti-clockwise. Let boil seven minutes. The instructions recommended Harry step away to prevent heat stroke, but he'd dealt with worse. Twenty-three anti-clockwise, nineteen clockwise. As soon as Harry stepped back, pushing the paddle into the awaiting bucket, the fifth-year removed the heat. He pulled off the long-sleeved, leather gloves which had both protected his hands and forearms and prevented his sweat from mixing in with the solution. His eyes were still stinging from his sweat.

"Time," the red-head said. Harry waved his wand over the potion to set it, and she dutifully had the potion poured into a huge Erlenmeyer flask and then corked and sealed it.

Thankful that the heavy-duty ventilation charms kept the Potions lab fairly cool and the air clear, Harry noticed that all of the workers grinding and sorting and counting ingredients were gone. His potion had been the last to finish brewing.

"Potter." Harry could not help the stiffening muscles in his back from being addressed from behind.

"Yes, sir?"

"When you have finished your weekly coursework for the Salem Institute you will otherwise serve out your two-hour detention here Wednesday through Saturday night. The potions created will provide needed supplies used by the staff, students, and visitors of Hogwarts. A mistake here will cause any one of them grief later. If you are feeling unwell or do not feel you can provide exemplary results then say so and you will be set to preparing ingredients instead. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry ground out.

"You may go."

Arms and back sore, a chilled Harry waited until he was in the corridor to cast a multitude of charms to get the sweat, stench, and detritus off of him. He had read years ago that casting spells around brewing potions could change their characteristics, or worse set them too soon. The only wand-waving allowed was the nonverbal one to set one's potion; anything else was a simple tap of a wand that didn't even channel enough magic to set off Monitoring Charms.

Potions labs were necessarily required to have as little active magic as possible; every eight months, a lab was set to rest for sixty days to release any stray magic that may have built up during its use. It was why there were so many potions labs in the dungeon and why their classes occasionally rotated through them. Showering as soon as he had Summoned a set of clean robes and his hygienic supplies from his room, Harry returned to his dorm to collapse onto his bed. When the aches from his body kept him from sleep, he downed a potion and was out like a light.

The next few days could've been the worst at Hogwarts, if not for Harry's second year when everyone had been  _convinced_  that he was setting a basilisk on Muggle-borns. This year, if Harry hadn't had his all-Slytherin classes dispersed between ones with mixed Houses, he might have been a lot lonelier with all the outright hostility pouring on him.

Harry didn't fret so much about it; what's done was done. During Charms class, he made an assortment of objects zoom across the room. The Summoning Charm was a breeze compared to the dreaded Conjuring Spells he would have to attempt later that day.

"Good work, Harry," Daphne said with a friendly wink once they'd been dismissed, Tracey and Pansy quiet by her side and Bulstrode a half-step behind, "You really impressed Professor Flitwick." He was suspicious of her friendliness especially given that she had said that he would come to regret whatever excuse she fabricated for him, yet he could still appreciate a compliment.

Right then Cedric Diggory walked past them surrounded by a group of simpering wizards and witches, all of whom looked at Harry like he was a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry certainly didn't blame them. He didn't look the part of champion. Diggory, on the other hand, was exceptionally handsome with his straight nose, brownish blond hair, and grey eyes. It was hard to say who was receiving more admiration among the other three champions: Diggory, Delacour, or Krum. Harry had actually seen these very same sixth years also begging autographs of the other two champions at different points of the day.

Pansy suddenly asked, "Harry, would you like to walk with us?"

"If you'd like."

The five of them strode to the Great Hall. It felt like ages since he'd last spoken to the witches. They filled him in on what they learned during DADA class, asked after who was teaching him, and gave him authoritative gossip about Delacour and Krum's rumored tryst in Greenhouse Six. Harry thought that their continued dislike of Draco was obviously the cause of their distance, and Harry didn't fault them in the slightest. He did wish that Daphne would not stand so close to him and that Tracey would stop looking at him as if he might hex her. It made him uneasy and a little sick that the golden brunette was so wary of him. He'd never done anything to hurt her nor would he ever. He didn't say so only because words were easily mistrusted.

During Transfigurations, Harry had nearly wept in relief because he  _finally_  conjured a speck, just a speck, of coal from air. It had been rather exhausting getting that speck, much like it had when he was trying to summon a Patronus last year. Everyone around him was conjuring coal discs without any issue, but he was not going to disparage himself over it. Professor McGonagall had nodded approvingly over Harry's work causing him to grin, but then the old hag assigned him even more homework. He sighed. At this rate he would be spending all his free time either in the dormitory or in the library completing the assignments when he wasn't in detention doing the yet-to-be-seen assignments from the Salem Institute and stirring enormous batches of potions.

Several thick envelopes arrived by Friday, just as Ms. Oke promised. Included was a note from Snape saying that he was excused from potions work in the dungeons to meet with the principal about his studies in the Alchemy Classroom. Harry shoved everything into his bookbag and proceeded to Double Herbology after breakfast.

He was squarely hit in the jaw once by the Bouncing Bulbs they were repotting for Professor Sprout, dodging or ducking the other attempts to bean him. The Ravenclaws near him had laughed unpleasantly when one had landed the lucky hit; Under his breath, Draco had hexed their pot to upturn their carefully planted bulbs, causing havoc when the bulbs began to bounce every which way. Professor Sprout didn't even deduct points for it. She seemed more distant than usual. As the Head of Hufflepuff House maybe she was upset like the rest of her house-students about Harry being a Quadwizard champion. However, it seemed odd since she hadn't been so shaken by the Petrification of Ernest Macmillan. Harry wondered if her distraction had more to do with providing food for the dragons that would soon grace Hogwarts grounds.

Right after lunch, standing outside the Potions lab Harry had thought for a wild moment that the large badges pinned to the front of the Gryffindor robes were S.P.E.W. badges. Then he saw that they carried the same, yellow glowing message with an animated Badger carrying the Quadwizard Cup:

 **The Unrivaled Cedric Diggory**  
**Proud Hogwarts Champion**

"What d'ya think, Potter?" Seamus Finnigan had said loudly when Harry approached the Potions classroom with Theodore and Sally-Anne. "It even has a built-in trick!" He tapped the badge on his chest with his wand and the message upon it vanished in a swirl of color and was replaced by another one, which glowed in an emerald green:

 **HARRY THE FAIRY**  
**Ready To Get Buried**

Harry's eyes burned at the message. He let out a hiss before he caught himself. Finnigan's laughter was boisterous. The arse thought he was funny. "Take a look at 'im, he looks like he's about to cry!"

Draco looked ready to step forward, but at the blistering glare from Harry he stepped back.

"Oh very mature," Hermione said sarcastically to Finnigan, "Really  _witty_. And you call yourself a Lion!" She thankfully wasn't wearing one of those badges.

"Why don't you go to Ravenclaw where you belong?" Finnigan shot back.

Theodore and Sally-Anne were behind Harry. His roommate whispered, "If you want us to beat him bloody, just say the word, Harry."

"Let's show some solidarity, mates!" The antagonistic Gryffindor laughed as the others, excluding an upset Neville and a scowling Ron, tapped their badges, until the message  _HARRY THE FAIRY_  was shining brightly all around them. Heat rose in Harry's face and neck and the frustration he'd been feeling seemed to burst through a dam in his chest. Before he'd thought about what he was doing, he had drawn his wand, a spell half-finished on his tongue before he checked himself. All the Gryffindors but Finnigan scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.

The Slytherins howled in laughter behind Harry, while he forced the cold anger away, which so wanted to flatten Finnigan. He didn't want to hurt anyone, and he especially wanted to avoid having Finnigan's ashes sent back to his family in a salve jar. It'd make for bad press for the Salem Institute.

"You think you're free of ponces? Cowards and hypocrites, the whole lot of you," Draco spat towards them.

"We all know you and 'im have been shaggin'! Neville caught you last week, middle of the bloody day!" Finnigan spat out, eyes going from Draco to Harry. "Disgusting is what it is, buggerin' blokes."

Harry stared incomprehensively at the idiot before he slowly turned to Draco. The soul-shard wasn't able to possess him during the day. Not yet at least. His rambling thoughts settled onto a solution, and Harry was filled with sickening realization:  _That would be a pertinent reason why someone would need your hair._

"Aw, are you two about to have a domestic?"

Draco's jaw was stubbornly set and his arrogant posture screamed that he did nothing wrong, but his eyes betrayed fear. Harry found he quite liked that fear considering the despicableness of the other teen's actions; Harry however didn't let himself revel in that. There were more important matters to settle first. Namely, one Seamus Finnigan.

" _Densaugeo!_ "

Hardly batting an eye, Harry cast a Shield Charm and then said, " _Furnunculus!"_  at the other fourth year. Great ugly, yet painless, boils sprang up all over Finnigan's unscarred features. "You and I will discuss this at a later time,  _Malfoy_."

Sucking down a great gulp of air, Draco turned away to stare at the rapidly crusting face of Finnigan. His lip curled in disgust. "Nice face, Faffigan!" There was a manic edge to the prat's laughter, grating to Harry's ears.

The Gryffindor waved his wand threateningly, but he couldn't see very well now that his face resembled something found on the side of a wet log.

"Seamus! Put that away before you poke someone's eye out," Ron proclaimed, stepping forward as Finnigan's apparent second. He raised his wand at Harry's face. "And  _you_ , I thought you were a decent one! You had me convinced, and then you go and do  _that_  showing you're just like the rest of  _them_." For a moment, Harry thought Ron would start railing against him for his alleged gayness. "You actually did it, didn't you?"

"If you think I did  _those_  things with Malfoy, you're sorely mistaken—"

"No! I don't bloody care  _who_  you're buggering—though why  _Malfoy..._ " Ron shook his head with disgust. "'Cept my sister, of course. You touch her and you're dead." He jabbed his wand at Harry.

"I'm not interested in your sister." Not in the way other teenaged wizards were, Harry suspected.

"Don't change the subject—What I mean is that I don't think it was somebody else who put your name in. I think it was you. You did it to yourself to get attention—Like you don't get bloody enough as it is."

Harry stared at the redhead like he was daft. "You think  _I'm_  clever enough to bypass Dumbledore's Age Line  _and_ Confund the Goblet of Fire into taking a fourth champion?"

"You slayed a giant, mythical beast our second year  _by yourself_! Who's to say it's impossible?"

Deciding it would be fruitless to argue that it hadn't been him that killed the basilisk, Harry put doubt into his tone. "I think you've seriously overestimated my abilities by quite a bit."

 _"_ Bloody Slytherins never get to the point," Ron muttered. _"_ It's a yes or no.  _Did you or did you not put your name in for the running_?"

"What is all this noise?" a soft, deadly voice asked. As soon as Professor Snape had arrived, Ron shoved his long wand back into his robes; the same could not be said of Finnigan, who had yet to holster his wand.

"He started it!" Finnigan shouted, thrusting his wand blindly towards Snape.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for threatening a professor of Hogwarts. Now, put away your wands, you twits, before I assign detention."

Harry holstered his wand. Reluctantly, Finnigan did the same, and Harry's housemates clamored for attention. Not to be dismissed, the Gryffindors began to yell over them. "Silence." Snape pointed a long, yellow-stained finger at Draco. "Explain."

"Finnigan attacked Potter, sir—"

"He drew his wand first!" Finnigan cried out outraged.

"—under provocation of course." Draco gesturing gracefully towards Finnigan, whose badge still displayed  _HARRY THE FAIRY_. "These idiots surrounded Harry with those insulting badges. Not very proper behavior towards a champion, I think. What if Principal Oke found out that her champion was being bullied? It wouldn't look good for Hogwarts. Might even cause an international flap."

Snape's glare momentarily flicked to Harry and then he said nastily, "Every one of you will turn in those badges, Let's see… five points for each badge… thirty-five points deducted from the Gryffindor House. Tut, tut."

"But Potter got Seamus!" Ron said angrily pointing at Finnigan's face. "LOOK!"

Finnigan's face now truly resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. Harry thought it was fitting curse for a bullying homophobe.

Snape looked coldly at Finnigan. "I see no difference."

Both Finnigan and Ron began to shout at Snape at the same time, their voices echoing into a confused din that was impossible to decipher into words. However, it was easy to understand their gist.

"Let's see," Professor Snape said in his silkiest voice. "Another twenty points from Gryffindor for disrespect towards a professor of Hogwarts and a detention each for Weasley and Finnigan. Now get inside or it'll be a week's worth of detention."

From the start of the year, Double Potions had become a tense experience for Harry since Professor Snape constantly stalked by his desk. And yet, being shut in the dungeon for nearly two hours with Gryffindors might have been a lot more unpleasant if it wasn't for the Potions Master. It was very odd to think of Potions as another class where Harry didn't have to feel ostracized despite the glares from the Gryffindors. Most were absolutely  _convinced_ that he'd tricked the Goblet of Fire into taking his name, which sadly now included Ron Weasley.

An hour and a half passed smoothly. Harry was now ladling up his cooled potion and corking the vial. He'd spent most of his time thinking of creative ways to humiliate Draco for providing nasty gossip fodder to the rest of the school. Frankly, Harry didn't care who had Polyjuiced themselves to look like him; they'd likely had been blackmailed anyway.

Mostly, Harry felt betrayed and violated in ways he never imagined, and that sustained the simmering anger directed at his detestable roommate. He cleaned up his work area and put his potions materials away. The other students appeared to be frantically working; Neville was already crying, knowing he was about to suffer terribly from poison when his antidote didn't work as it should. Harry had thought to help his brother, but he was taking some small pleasure in the other teen's tears. Neville had unfortunately not learned to his keep his mouth shut. This seemed fitting retribution.

"Label and turn in your antidotes!" Snape said, looking around at them all, his eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have followed your recipes and prepared them by now. I will be selecting someone to test one…"

"Not me, you ruddy bastard," Harry breathed out. Ron and Hermione turned to him with shock, while Theodore and Sally-Anne grimaced in concerned. At the level below Harry, Draco was calmly ladling out his batch of antidote into three vials. There had not been a single word or glance from his roommate since they entered the lab.

Black, cruel eyes met Harry's, and Harry knew what was coming as the niggling feeling started up again. Snape was going to poison  _him_. Even if his potion didn't work, Harry had a lump of bezoar in his pocket. He scowled imagining that if the greasy-haired git chose him, Harry would have the bastard flat on his back, twitching and jerking from the effects of the Cruiciatus Curse like his spider… like the two people Voldemort had tortured. Harry shuddered slightly and decided that maybe that wasn't such a good plan.

Unfortunately, Snape was already approaching Harry—And then a knock on the dungeon door interrupted whatever the old bat had been about to say. "Yes?" The Potions Master said curtly.

Ginny Weasley came confidently into the room smiling. She walked right to Professor Snape, who towered far over the third-year Gryffindor. "Sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs."

The adult stared down his hooked nose at Ginny, whose smile never faded. "Potter has another half-hour of Potions to complete," the professor said coldly, enunciating every word. "He will go when class is finished."

Her expression became more determined. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore himself requested his presence," the Gryffindor said without any sort of nervousness. Harry had to admire her nerve. "All the champions have to report in."

"Very well," Snape snapped, "Potter, leave your things here; I want you back after you've finished… to test your antidote."

Draco made a noise of disbelief, but whatever he meant to say died on his lips at the glare his godfather sent him. As to why the cotton-headed prat would be surprised, Harry wasn't sure. Of course, Snape would be eager to test the viability of the Antidote to Billywig Stings. His intense curiosity and love for potions would not let the chance slip by without a fight. And if Harry showed he was capable of O.W.L. level work then—

"Sir—he's got to take his things with him," Ginny said firmly, and Harry found himself admiring her more. He'd never seen anyone successfully stand up to the greasy-haired git before, besides himself. The Potions Master must be getting  _soft_. "All the champions—"

"Very  _well_! Potter—take your bag and get out of my sight!" Snape snarled viciously.

Without a word to his friends, Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and headed out the door.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Ginny said the moment Harry had closed the classroom door behind him. "You being champion?"

"Yeah, really amazing," Harry said heavily as they set off toward the steps into the Entrance Hall. "I just  _love_  the publicity and the chance to get maimed by dragons."

Ginny frowned, flicking her long red hair over her shoulder. She, like many of the other girls in her year, had gotten softer in the face over the summer. Puberty, Harry reasoned. He had noticed how hair was growing in uncomfortable places on himself and how his voice was deepening, but that wasn't something that happened all at once like it seemed to be for girls. Dreading the horrendous cracks he'd heard in Terry Boot's voice in Arithmancy, Harry spoke softly and evenly to bide his time. And the  _smell…_ Maybe Harry was the only one sensitive to it, but he cast a Refreshening charm on himself at least twice a day now, in addition to daily showers—

"If you hate being champion so much, why'd you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

"Yes, why on Earth would I do something I know I'll regret later," Harry bit out. Damn the arrogance of Voldemort's soul-shard, and whoever thought it'd be brilliant to make him the fourth champion. Harry had suspected Professor Moody, but now he wasn't so sure. He had been unable to dig up any sort of reasonable proof beyond a hunch.

Ginny blinked at him, obviously not following. "…Sorry?"

"I wanted nothing to do with this silly death tournament with its stupid eternal glory and monetary prize I don't need."

"…Then… Someone  _else_  put your name in?"

Harry shot an annoyed look at her, but clamped down on the impulse to berate her for not thinking of it sooner. "I think Hermione's figured that out already and told Neville; otherwise they'd be wearing those bleeding badges, too." He looked at the front of her robes meaning to check for a badge, but instead noticed the soft mounds beneath before he averted his eyes. The nightmare of her lifeless body came unbidden, and his breath shuddered slightly. Not to mention, he didn't need another reason for Ron Weasley to hate him.

Agitated, she shoved a thumb against her chest. "Don't lump me in with the likes of Finnigan the Creep," a red-faced Ginny said hotly. "And none of my brothers are wearing it  _because_  you're the only Slytherin they respect."

Harry hadn't known why Ron hadn't worn one of the badges, but he had suspected it had more to do with Hermione than any respect the ginger might feel towards a  _bloody Slytherin_. Hexing Finnigan hadn't won Harry any favors from Ron. Harry wondered if the arse was Ron's best mate. If so, why couldn't he have befriended Neville instead?

"And, here we are." Ginny stopped by a door and looked at Harry expectantly. She pushed her hair back over her shoulders. Her hair brushed her chin as she bounced slightly, drawing Harry's eyes down again by the cascade of movement it caused. He immediately looked away from the barest amount of cleavage peeking out from her shirt under her robes which had fallen open.

She leaned closer, her orange-red hair slipping off her shoulders to frame her chest. "Hey, so…"

"Thanks for spiriting me away from Potions," Harry said quickly, grabbing the knob of the door. He entered the room without knocking. Once he shut the door behind him, he felt like he was finally able to breathe. It took a moment longer for his heart to stop thumping hard. He looked up.

It was a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle. The three champions were already there; Krum was standing to the side looking miffed, while Diggory and Delacour were chatting. Delacour seemed much more animated than before. Harry wondered if there might have been a fight between Krum and Delacour for them to be so distant now. Pansy had said something about a romantic tryst between the two…

Harry recognized the squat, paunchy man as the same photographer from the  _Daily Prophet_  who'd elbowed him in Flourish and Blotts a couple years back. The photographer was standing behind a large black camera which was smoking slightly and was watching Fleur out the corner of his eyes. Beside him, stood a witch with elaborate and rigid curls of platinum blond hair which contrasted oddly with her sharp jawline. At the front of the room, there was a table covered in a long length of black velvet. Ms. Oke was seated behind it.

"Harry!" The Salem Institute principal cried happily, standing and raising her hands up in an expression of excitement. "This is just the wand weighing ceremony; the rest of the judges will be here in a moment."

What judges? Harry wanted to ask, but refrained since he'd obviously missed it in Professor Dumbledore's long-winded Start-of-Term speech. "Wand weighing?" He queried instead.

"Your wand needs to be checked for full functionality," she said. "And, that creepy little man was waiting for you so he could finish taking his photographs and scurry out the door. Right, Ken?" Her green eyes looked rather cool as they flicked towards the squat wizard, who scowled in her general direction without responding.

Obediently, Harry went to stand by the other champions before the camera. The photographer took several group photos of them and then pulled Harry aside for an individual shot. Harry refused to pose in a ridiculous manner no matter how much the wizard prodded him to; Harry did smile though he hated every moment of it. Once the photographer had finished, he began to pack his gear. Ms. Oke stepped forward to supervise in an intimidating manner. Soon, she was shooing the wizard out, and the door shut, leaving the champions alone with the blonde witch.

"Well, well, now that noisy Yankee has left, I can introduce myself." The witch stepped forward in her satin blue dress with black fur trim. A long, gold chain was connected to the sides of her pert, bejeweled spectacles. "My. What a charismatic quartet," she said, approaching their silent group. "Hello-o! I'm Rita Skeeter." She offered a hand to shake with each one of them, though Harry had initially recoiled since she had already written a book about him. "I write for the _Daily Prophet._ " Skeeter threw up her red-manicured hands excitedly with much less flair than Ms. Oke had. "But you know that, don't you?" She looked directly at Harry who did his best not to squirm, and then her attention drifted to the other three. "It's  _you_  we don't know."

None of them knew what to say to her.

Skeeter chuckled once, nodding at them. "You're the juicy news… What quirks…" She said, gently cupping Delacour's face, "Lurk beneath those rosy cheeks?" Skeeter lightly slapped the Beauxbatons Champion; Harry forced his face to remain blank while Delacour looked quite incensed.

"What mysteries do the muscles mask?" Skeeter went behind Diggory, running her hand through his hair as if he were a large two-legged hound and not a human being. Diggory grinned. "Does courage lie beneath those curls?" She drew her hand away from the Hufflepuff, and Harry stepped through Krum and Delcour to remove himself from the writer's wandering hands. Skeeter drew an arm around Diggory's shoulder and Krum's, holding them tightly. "In short, what makes a champion  _tick_?" She said this all with a broad smile, a fake one that made Harry uneasy. Her head craned back to look at them, and then she pulled away from the two. "Me, myself, and I want to know. Not to mention my  _rabid_  readers!" Her laughter was high and scratchy rather like a wheezing phoenix on its Burning Day. Then she crossed her arms, tapping a finger against a rouged cheek. "So, who's feeling up to sharing? Hm?"

The others looked away, finding some feature of the room much more interesting to gaze at.

Her shrewd blue eyes locked with Harry's. "Shall we start with the youngest?" She grabbed Harry by the arm before he had a chance to react. "Lovely."

"Er—excuse me," Harry said, trying to pull his arm out of her surprisingly strong grasp. He clutched air uselessly instead of drawing his wand. He could imagine how Skeeter's  _rabid readers_  would react if he hexed her for being obnoxious. Reporters were supposed to be obnoxious; that's how they badgered and weaseled information out of others.

She steered him into another room and towards a small, narrow door adjacent to a stairwell. "We don't want to be in a place with all that noise," she said, finally loosening her grip on him enough to open the plain wooden door. "Yes, this is nice and cozy."

Harry yanked his arm away and took several steps back. A broom cupboard accosted his vision. For a moment he was back at the Dursleys with a hungry belly. He desperately wanted to feel the sun again, the only warmth he was allowed.

She snapped her fingers at him a couple of times, and that was enough to remind him that he was fourteen, not seven. "I said, come along, dear." Skeeter perched precariously upon an upturned bucket inside of the cramped closet. "You should feel right at home."

"I think not," Harry said angrily. She was bloody off her rocker if she thought he was going in there.

"Mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally."

"If you want me to talk to you, I suggest you find a different venue for an interview," he slammed the door shut on the rude woman and stormed back into the other room, slamming that door shut too. He stalked towards the standing champions. Krum seemed less than interested at Harry's entrance, while Delacour and Diggory looked up when he reappeared.

Delacour blinked. "Zat was quick."

"How was she?" Diggory asked.

"I don't know. She expected me to sit in a broom cupboard with her," Harry said through gritted teeth. Even if he wanted to sit, his feet were too restless to allow it. Mostly he wanted to go back and hex Skeeter to have her hair fade in color and fall out in a sign of premature balding. He knew the spells for it. He shook the thoughts out of his mind. When had he become so rattled by the sight of a broom cupboard?  _I need to calm down_. At that, he clasped his hands behind him and stood up straight. "What?" He snapped at the three champions. Delacour had maintained eye contact with him, which was good since Harry was sick of the pity he saw on Diggory's face.

"What is ze matter? 'Oo do not like ze closed spaces?" The Beauxbatons Champion asked kindly. "I myself do not like zem."

Harry couldn't help the bark of laughter. "Were you shoved into a small space and left for hours, sometimes days? No? Then you have no idea what a broom cupboard means to me."

Delacour's mouth flattened and her gaze grew hostile.

"You don't need to take it out on her," Diggory said to someone invisible standing next to Harry. "It's not her fault that she doesn't know."

Thrusting a finger in the direction of the door, Harry hissed as he spun to look at each of them, "Rita Skeeter wrote an unauthorized biography on me detailing the abuse I underwent with my Muggle relatives. That woman knows precisely what she's doing." The way Diggory's eyes shot open in dismay was almost comical. Delacour's expression grew sour, but she didn't say a word.

When Krum kept glancing at him with a quizzical frown gracing his stoic features, Harry said, "What? If you have something to say, say it."

"Hyu survive dementor attack, und hyu are ashamed."

"They kept attacking me because they saw me as easy prey. Why wouldn't I be ashamed?"

"I do not understand. No shame to find in survival." Krum smoothed his features to a neutral state; he did not step closer even though his large body seemed to sway indecisively. He raised his hands to hold over his heart. "I hav good ffamily, good parents. I do not know vhat is like to live among bad ffamily, but no shame to escape them, to find new brothers und sisters."

The defensiveness in Harry faltered, but when he glanced at Delacour her expression held a tinge of betrayal and disappointment. He'd only kept to the nice parts of his stay with the Dursleys, making light of anything that could be spun out of context. Harry lifted his hands to forestall the torrent of sympathies swimming behind her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I spared you from the delightful tales of my cupboard adventures, such as the day I peeled all the paint from the cupboard walls or the time I persevered through a plague of centipedes and spiders sent by my cousin Dudley."

Instead of shocking her, a dark, angry look crossed her face. Harry very nearly took a step back, unsure whether she'd start shooting fire from her hands. Then with a much thicker accent coated with wrath Delacour said, "Zat  _woman_  'az no buisnez treat-eeng 'oo like zat! I shayll breeng my complaints to ze 'eadmistress!"

"I, myself, would like to hear your complaints, Miss Delacour," Professor Dumbledore said with a courteous bow and smile, as he walked in, surrounded by five adults. "But I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start. If you would all please have a seat."

Delacour clucked her tongue, eyes narrowing dangerously at the Headmaster, and crossed her arms. She uncrossed them when Madam Maxime cleared her throat. Then the Beauxbatons champion plastered on a polite look of indifference.

The headmaster gestured towards the four chairs sitting in odd places in the room and they slid towards the Quadwizard champions at the flick of his fingers. Harry was forced to sit in a middle chair between Diggory and Delacour. He had the strangest notion that the others were guarding him. It set his teeth on edge.

At the velvet-covered table, Headmistress Maxime, High Master Karkaroff, Principal Oke, and Mr. Crouch seated themselves. "May I introduce Mr. Ollivander? He will be checking your wands to ensure they are in good condition."

With a jolt of surprise, Harry saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Harry had only met Mr. Ollivander once before over three years ago in Diagon Alley. The two champions next to him tensed, confusing Harry for a moment before he saw that Rita Skeeter had slithered in, settling herself in a corner with a slip of parchment on her knee as she sucked on her lower lip. The Quick-Quotes Quill was scribbling furiously across a long piece of parchment. It seemed she had already rolled it up to make room.

Not wasting any time, Mr. Ollivander had already called Delacour up. He twirled her wand in his hands, causing a number of gold sparks to shoot out and then held it close to his eyes to examine it carefully. Delacour's wand was apparently nine and a half inches long made of rosewood with a veela hair from her grandmother as its magical core. He called the wand temperamental.

 _So, she's quarter-veela_ , Harry thought to himself. The more he looked at her, the more her silvery blond hair somewhat reminded Harry of Draco's mother…

After running his fingers once more along the wand, Mr. Ollivander conjured up a bouquet of flowers and handed it and the wand back to the Beauxbatons Champion. Fleur glided back to her seat smiling at Diggory as he passed her. The pleasant aroma of the conjured flowers wafted by Harry. Daffodil, clover, and iris were some of Harry's favorites, easy to grow and hardy in the Dursley garden if he couldn't water them a day or two.

Mr. Ollivander held reverent recognition for Diggory's wand having made it himself from twelve and a quarter inches of ash with the hair of a male unicorn, which had apparently nearly gored the wand-maker after he plucked the hair from the large steed's tail. "… pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition. You treat it regularly?" Mr. Ollivander asked appearing pleased.

"Polished it last night," Diggory said, grinning.

The wand-maker conjured a baby seal only to Vanish it a second later. Harry looked down at his own wand. There were fingermarks all over it. He gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to sneakily rub it clean, but gold sparks leapt from the end of it. Delacour gave him a very patronizing look. " 'Oo should not do zat. Wands like a good polish. 'Oo do not want an angree wand, no?"

Harry dropped his robes sheepishly, cupping his wand. "I'll polish you tonight," he promised to the vibrating piece of wood, and the buzzing subsisted quite suddenly. Harry stared down at his wand having the queerest sensation that Delacour was not speaking figuratively about a wand's feelings.

Diggory returned to his seat beside Harry, and Harry looked up to see a scowling, slouched Krum waiting with his hands in the pockets of his robes as Ollivander stared intensely at his wand.

The wand-maker apparently recognized another's Wandcraft, one by the name of Gregorovitch. Krum's wand was ten and a quarter inches made of hornbeam with a core of particularly thick dragon heartstring, and "Quite rigid," the wand-maker observed. Mr. Ollivander conjured up a number of small, twittering birds with a single spell.

"Good," Mr. Ollivander said, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves… Mr. Potter."

Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum, turning his wand over to the wand-maker.

"Aaaah, yes," he said, his pale eyes gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember…"

The Slytherin remembered too. He had tried several wands in the shop before he found the wand that had suited him, remembered the sage words spoken so long ago. At present, the wand-maker was spending a tremendously long time examining Harry's wand, much longer than he had with the others. Harry was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something that couldn't be helped—rather like Harry couldn't help being related to Petunia Dursley.

"…I remember that you went through a number of wands before this one chose you. Holly and a tail feather of a phoenix, precisely eleven inches long. An unusual combination…" He gently flexed Harry's wand. "Supple. However, it does not appear that you have ever polished your wand, Mr. Potter," the wand-maker said with disappointment.

Harry flushed. "I'll do it tonight," he murmured.

" _Lumos Solem!_ " Mr. Ollivander cast, and a bright beam of sunlight burst out of the tip of Harry's wand and then disappeared. "Despite the disregard of a basic tenet of Wand Maintenance, your wand is in perfect condition. You will do well to cherish the time you have with it." Harry's wand was offered to him in a gentle two-handed grip.

Curious at the wand-maker's words, Harry took his wand to holster it and took his seat.

"Thank you, champions," the headmaster said, "You may return to your lessons—or considering the time, it may be quicker to head to the Great Hall as dinner will be served shortly."

With the three champions around him, Harry went downstairs to the Entrance Hall and entered the Great Hall. He sat alone at the Slytherin table, since Krum had to go back to his ship. There were a great many more badges reading  _HARRY THE FAIRY_ everywhere he looked, which reminded him to challenge Draco the moment he saw the prat. Across the Great Hall, Diggory was raising a fuss at his house's long table. With an exaggerated motion, he ripped something off another's robes, tossed it into the air, and Transfigured it into a bird, which immediately went chirping out the hole in the ceiling where the owls came in.

Before Slytherins trundled in filling up the benches around him, Harry caught sight of the pile of badges Diggory had swiftly collected from his housemates. By the sharp movement of his arms, he seemed quite incensed by them.

Theodore and Sally-Anne greeted Harry, telling him how Potions class went. It was Draco who ended up poisoned, not Neville, since his antidote had failed to completely counteract it. Godfather and godson were likely at the infirmary by now, which explained Draco's absence. When the Durmstrang students arrived, they segregated themselves from the Slytherins by sitting at the last table closest to the door.

Harry ate silently, while Theodore relayed the different strategies that their housemates had devised to use against the dragons. Of course, his friend first had to explain what each of the breeds were and how they behaved. Harry hoped he would face the Welsh Green. They were of average intelligence and smaller than the other breeds.

Draco and his two escorts were not seen throughout the entirety of the meal. Snape should have counteracted the poison by now, if he hadn't already pre-brewed the antidote. Harry hoped that meant that Draco was having his ears scorched by a condescending lecture about stealing ingredients from Snape's potions store and the consequent misuse of Polyjuice Potion.

After dinner, Harry excused himself from his friends' company to hurry ahead of the group to the dungeons and then through the common room. Passing a couple of small first years on his way up the tower stairwell, Harry entered his shared room and pulled out the Broom Servicing Kit from the bottom of his trunk. He pulled Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish from the kit… Interrupting his thoughts, a barn owl tapped noisily against the window by his bed. Harry strode over to it, opening the window to let it in from the cold. It hopped onto the small table next to his bed and held its leg out patiently. He untied the letter from it and then let the owl back outside. He unrolled the parchment and read:

**Harry—**

**I can't say everything I would like to in a letter. Ever since the World Cup, the Ministry's been intercepting more and more owls. We need to talk face-to-face. Meet me in the Slytherin common room at midnight this Saturday night. And make sure you're alone.**

**-Sirius**

_That would be tomorrow_   _after a heavy course of brewing potions_ , Harry thought irritably and then blinked. What was Sirius thinking entering the Slytherin house when Severus Snape was out for his blood? Well, if the wizard was mad enough to break out of Azkaban to try to catch Pettigrew himself, then a letter from Harry wouldn't dissuade his godfather.

Harry cast an Ever-Burning Jinx on the parchment as he did with any of his godfather's correspondence. It would be too easy for his roommates, especially one particularly nosy Draco, to dig through his things and notify Snape of such a meeting. Behind him, the door opened. Harry spun to face the door.

"Malfoy, I challenge you to a duel." The winces were becoming less pronounced, yet Harry couldn't help the immense satisfaction he received from them. "And if you ever collect my hair to use in your filthy fetishes again, I won't bother giving you a warning before I send you to the infirmary."

"I accept your challnege, your Grace, and beg your forgiveness," Draco bowed much more deeply and respectfully than Harry thought was possible from the prat. Crabbe and Goyle moved to the floor taking Gobstones out to play.

"You don't get out of this so easily. Because of you, everyone thinks I'm bleeding gay. How am I going to ask anyone out, if they laugh at my face when I try?" Harry slammed his jar of broomstick polish onto his desk, causing Draco to jump. Yanking out his chair, Harry sat and pulled out his wand, before he was interrupted by Draco timidly clearing his throat. "What?" He snapped. "And before you even suggest it, no, I won't go to the Yule Ball with anyone you recommend."

There was a look of melodramatic horror on the prat's face. Harry saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "No, that's not what—you can't use broomstick polish on a wand!" Draco blurted out, looking as if he might snatch Fleetwood's polish from Harry's hands.

"Then what do I use?"

Eager to please, Draco flung himself towards his own desk and snatched up a small jar and a clean Terry cloth. He stared down his nose at the large jar of polish in Harry's hand, until Harry screwed the lid back on and set it down. "I suppose you have no idea how to polish your wand," Draco said. "It takes long, even strokes to do it right."

Before Harry could retort, someone guffawed by the doorway. A tired Theodore rushed forward and then the look of expectation faded when he saw the cloth and polish in Draco's hands. "Oh, bother. And here you've got my hopes up."

While Harry frowned at Theodore, Draco let out a burst of surprised giggling which soon evolved into hysterical laughter.

Hopping up from his chair, Harry snatched the items from the other's grasp. "I think I can manage just fine, thank you," he said sharply. "And it's slander what they say about me, Theo. We won't keep on good terms if you bring it up, even in jest."

"Alright," his friend said. "I didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."

Harry sat down and began to polish his wand, granting it his full attention. He rubbed it unidirectionally with the terry cloth fisted around it.

Theodore whispered, "You should've known he'd find out about it. Even the staff's probably heard the rumors by now."

"You think I was thinking with the head on my shoulders?" Draco scoffed loudly.

Blocking them out, Harry murmured, "Sorry I haven't been polishing you properly. Nobody told me that wands needed it." Harry paused, sensing how the humming changed. "I know. I should have figured that out on my own. I'm sorry."

The stick of wood was vibrating like a cat beneath his fingertips. Harry smiled. Perhaps he would be forgiven…

"HARRY POTTER! DETENTION! DETENTION! DETENTION!"

"Bleeding clock," Harry growled, shoving the polished wand into his holster. He scooped up the heavy packets of Muggle copy paper and headed out. Theodore caught up to him at the portrait-hole.

Once they were walking down the empty main corridor, Theodore said, "So, I've come to the conclusion that I'm too unreliable of a friend to be there when you need me."

"You're there when it counts."

"Rumors of my replacement have been exaggerated then?"

Harry's arms tightened around the thick envelopes. "Malfoy hasn't replaced you. He decided that on his own."

"Well, you're in a bit of bind then. Sally-Anne isn't as well-connected as Draco, though she's working on that. At the moment her only advantage is that he's not well-liked."

"I wouldn't know why anyone would dislike him," Harry said sarcastically. "If he's not destroying a family's livelihood, creating lifelong grudges against me, or disparaging the achievements of witches, he's being an arse to anyone he thinks are beneath him—which is nearly everyone."

"You're angry."

Harry whirled on him. " _You said_ , his greatest asset wasn't his connection to his father.  _You said_ , that I shouldn't keep him at arm's length. I noticed that Malfoy was intensely protective of me and willing to do what I say. He wanted me to trust him… Everything he's done since the time I pushed him out of the way of Buckbeak seemed to point to that. And now I find he's been  _shagging my likeness_. Worse, you don't seem the least bit surprised by it."

Levelheaded, Theodore simply asked, "And what does that tell you?"

Harry took in a short breath. His brain skittered over the evidence, refusing to look at it. He had to pretend that it had nothing to do with him before he could even begin dismantle Draco's motivations. When it clicked, Harry was strangely calm. "Draco Malfoy is in love with me."

"Correct."

"And it's not a simple crush; he's beyond that if he's Polyjuicing others to look like me."

His friend nodded. "He's terrified that you'll utterly reject his presence, which makes him… what?" Theodore's blue eyes sharpened.

Harry sighed. "Receptive to anything I say to him. Controllable. Easy to manipulate." He paused in sight of the Alchemy classroom's door. "He offered to teach me Occlumency basics."

"And you said  _no_?"

Harry frowned at his friend.

"Right. Well, I wish I could help you with that, but I can only manage rudimentary Occlumency. I guess I'm too simple and straightforward for the mental acrobatics needed." Theodore gave him a side-long look.

"You think I should accept his offer."

"Who better to do so than someone who desperately wants you to survive?"

"Right," Harry said in a clipped manner. The thought of having Draco in his head—no, to allow the depraved prat to see his weakest moments—was only marginally better than Voldemort's journal rising from the dead to insist on ruling the world together.

The door opened. Ms. Oke was wearing another pinstriped pantsuit. Today she wore a bright purple tie with matching high heels. "Hello Potter. And…?"

"Theodore Nott, ma'am, Harry's eye-catching escort." Theodore flourished a bow. "If you don't mind taking Harry back to the Thin Lady's portrait when he's finished, I need to work on the piles of homework that's awaiting me."

"Sure, sure, Nott. I'll take him back when we're done." Ms. Oke stepped back and Harry walked into the fully furnished office that no longer looked like a part of the dungeons. The inside walls had the appearance of varnished redwood siding. Black fabric was hanging from rods giving the impression of windows where Harry knew there would be none. The floor was made of what looked to be polished hardwood, and the ceiling had been covered in smoothed grey plaster. Several chandeliers hung from it throwing off plenty of warm light. There were a few sparsely filled bookshelves, holding trinkets rather than books, and even a fireplace to the left had a fire merrily burning in it. A wooly rug with a hideous color—mustard green—sat before it. There were framed photos sitting on the mantel above the fireplace; some of them moved, while others didn't, an effect that Harry oddly liked.

"I didn't have time to make it homey, but I thought it'd work," Ms. Oke said cheerfully. "So let's get down to business, shall we?" Her high heels clicked noisily against the floor bringing her to her desk.

After Harry sat down holding the packets in his lap, Ms. Oke said she was overall pleased with the Hogwarts curriculum, excepting a few glaring problems. The first one was that there were no Magical Basics class, such as wand maintenance, proper enchanted objects care, and the like. "The fact that you never thought to polish your wand speaks volumes."

"Next year should be the start of a new class that teaches first years that sort of thing," Harry said quietly.

"Wonderful, but we need to fix that now. We won't start with that today, next week maybe." Ms. Oke went on to talk about the extremely haphazard way that Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against Dark Arts was taught; for the former there was little lesson planning involved beyond a vague theme, and in the latter there had not been a regular teacher since Galatea Merryweather had retired well over thirty years ago. "I've talked to your R.A. to reserve Friday nights for supplemental instruction since you were slapped with eight hours of detention every week for the next three months." She grinned at him. "Did trouble find you?"

"No… I created a dangerous cursed object," Harry half-lied because, while it was his body that had prepared it, it wasn't really him.

Her eyebrows lifted. "Had to be a nasty piece of work to merit such a harsh sentence…"

"Considering this person tried to throw me out a window twice, I thought it was fair."

"Hmm." She smiled. "If anyone tries to pull a stunt like that again, just let me know. I'll deal with the offender myself. Got it? You're my champion now and under my protection."

Harry nodded.

"Back on topic… The last major issue I noticed was that Muggle Studies is an  _optional_  class and you're not in it." She leaned back against her desk. "You aren't harboring any blood purist sympathies, are you?"

"No, I didn't take it because I had six years of Muggle schooling before coming here, and then a friend of mine said that the class is more about dehumanizing Muggles rather than learning anything worthwhile. Not to mention Professor Burbage calls  _electricity_ eleck-trickity, like every other Muggle Studies expert I've come across."

"Oh, the  _horror_ ," Ms. Oke mocked. "So, I'm not wrong if I say that the Oldworlders think that electricity is Muggle magic?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Cute. Just adorable." The ever-smiling principal pushed off her desk to move around it to take a seat. She propped her elbows on the desk, clasped her hands together, and leaned her chin against them. "You're a perfect fit for the Salem Institute, you know."

"I love Hogwarts. Even if I didn't, all my friends are here."  _Not to mention that the great Dumbledore is here._  Harry smiled pleasantly. "I wouldn't dream of going anywhere else."

"And after you graduate? What do you plan on doing? Are you getting a job or apprenticeship—or did you want to go to magical college? Because if you wanted extended learning in an all-star institution you won't find it on this side of the Atlantic. "

"I hadn't thought about it."

"You still have another three years before you can apply. There's no rush." She patted the desk, where a line of ball-point pens were stuck into a block of wood. "Now, pull up a chair and get started on the latest innovations in the field of Runic Arts—it'll be different than the medieval long-hand they teach you here. You'll find the coursework in the packet with the protective sigil on it. Oh, and I made a little cubby for you to keep your papers together so you don't have to cart them around." She pointed at a diminutive, plain-looking wardrobe with small metal handles on it at the back of the room. "Any supplies you'll need are also in there."

Even though Harry really want to take a look at what the wardrobe held, he obediently took up the packets and pushed his chair to the cut-away at the front of the desk where he could comfortably pull in. Taking the second packet from the pile, Harry carefully peeled the lip open and pulled out the stack of bright white paper. Some were stapled together, meant to be reading material, he gathered, while others looked like practice sheets.

"I recommend you make copies of the drill sheets in case you screw up. Let me know if you get stuck." With that she pulled a book from a drawer in her desk, toed out of her high heels, and sat on the shag carpeting in front of the fire to read.

And that was how Harry was to spend two hours every Friday evening, doing extra bloody work from the Salem Institute just to stay dual-enrolled.


	10. The Staged Rumble

Admittedly, when Harry woke up early the next morning, he spent some time planning several 'modern' Runic Patterns on sheets of paper. While he carefully applied them with chalk or charcoal depending on whichever required it to the underside of his bed frame, he thought of how Sirius was going to do it, how he was going to sneak into the common room which sat at the bottom of Hogwarts Lake. None of his roommates disturbed him, despite his odd behavior of sliding under their beds to check if the frames had the same runes of gold he saw on his own. Then again it wasn't quite four in the morning yet and they were all fast asleep. Once he'd finished, he pulled on his Spellfast Cloak and left the common room. Neville was waiting by the Thin Lady. They jogged through the corridors, starting their trek at the staircase by the boathouse which would take them to the surrounding grounds. The silence had apparently been excruciating for Neville, until the Gryffindor apologized. When Harry told him not to worry about it, Neville had relaxed about walking in on  _that scene_.

Harry decided to prune his misconceptions utterly. "You remember what you said when I said I didn't want to snog girls?"

Neville looked at him timidly. "That you liked blokes…?"

"And I said…?"

"That you didn't want to kiss boys, either."

"And if that hasn't changed," Harry said using a tone that wouldn't frighten Neville despite his annoyance, "Then what did you see?"

Footfalls marked the seconds as they made their first lap around Hogwarts. After a point, they would have to go inside to jog because a huge side of Hogwarts was sheer cliff. "I dunno, Harry," Neville admitted. "In the bathroom, you… it didn't _seem_  like you, but…"

"They looked like me. Did they also declare undying love or some other nonsense that I would never say in a million years?"

"Well… Yeah." Neville looked hounded. "You called me a cry-baby."

Holding out a hand on Neville's shoulder, Harry slowed until they had stopped. "I would  _never_ say that to you."

Nodding, Neville had to hurriedly wipe his face. "I know but—"

"I told you last year something very important during our birthday. What was it, Neville?"

"Th-there's nothing wrong with crying," his brother said with a hushed tone. "B-but I do it too much."

"Am I a cry-baby?"

"No, Harry. You never cry!"

"I don't cry where anyone can see. Not even around you." Harry tightened the hand on his shoulder. "I don't have the courage to do it, to bare it out in the open."

A sudden hug ensconced Harry, Neville's larger size nearly suffocating. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep my big fat mouth shut. I'm sorry I ever thought it was you," Neville said over his shoulder. "If I ever find you like that again, you're either poisoned by potions or Polyjuiced."

"Right," Harry mustered to Neville's sweaty, smelly armpit. His brother was liable to make it to two meters at the rate he was going, while Harry remained stubbornly short. A few moments later Neville stepped back, and Harry reveled in the cool air that hit his face. He took in a deep breath. "So who did you tell?"

"Hermione, but it wasn't her. Lavender overheard me, and she told Seamus—I think they're dating—and then he told everyone else." Neville cast his eyes to the ground, shifting uncomfortably. "He's got a copy of your biography and reads passages aloud when he wants a laugh."

Finnigan was a lovely piece of work. Harry, conversely, hardly thought about him. "Let's head over to the Whomping Willow. I want to teach you a bit of magic so you won't be overheard again."

"Alright."

They picked up pace again, jogging up the steps to Hogwarts. They darted inside and made a hard left onto the covered bridge. Despite its rickety appearance, it was solid beneath their feet as they ran down the jagged hall. First out, Harry hopped down the final steps and sprinted across the rolling hills, passing the shanty cabin which was down the hill. A longing to visit Hagrid rolled into him as smoke curled from the chimney. The half-giant was due for a cuppa, something Harry had pitifully averaged a visit about once every year.

Quiet noise filled the air; the soft, eerie sound of branches creaked as they rubbed against each other, overgrown shrubbery softly clapping their leaves and the whisper of ankle-length grass brushing over their neighbors in the hard breeze. Panting noiselessly, Harry moved in a restless way as his sore muscles protested. When he could, he took in a deep breath of fresh air. He loved Care of Magical Creatures and Quidditch for precisely this, for the feeling of inviolate freedom which the outdoors gave him.

Heavy thuds told him Neville had caught up. Unholstering his wand from his thigh, Harry shot him a wry smile. "It's not a Ministry-approved spell, but it works exceptionally well. You should only use it when absolutely necessary."

Neville had already drawn his wand. He nodded. "Only for emergencies then."

After Harry demonstrated the spell a few times, it took Neville about twenty minutes to get a hang of the Silencing Ward, but once he had he was nearly jumping for joy. "I did it!"

"Great! Now, to cancel it a simple  _Finite Incantatem_ works _,_ which is why you don't want to use it where others might see. They could potentially cancel it themselves and eavesdrop for the few seconds it takes for you to realize it's gone."

Neville stuck his wand straight out and slashed it. " _Finite Incantatam._ "

Harry winced.

"Wrong again?" His brother said, not looking put off.

"It's in-can-ta-tem."

" _Fienite Incantatem._ "

"Fi-ni-te In-can-ta-tem."

"Right." Neville took a deep breath and with look of intense concentration said the words. Harry knew the ward had fallen when the noise of nature became much less muted.

"Excellent. Instead of finishing our jog, why don't we visit Hagrid for a bit and then head to breakfast?"

A grinning Neville nodded and ran ahead of him, pausing to yell, "Race you!"

Harry chuckled, checking to see if his wand was fully seated in his holster before he darted after him. They bounded down the hill to find a humming Hagrid outside spreading seed on his garden, which was filled with squash and gourds. Fat-looking brown hens were pecking on the ground after him

"Hagrid!" Neville called out excitedly over Fang's booming barks. "Look who's here to see you!"

"Who is it, Neville?" Wearing a hairy horrible brown suit, Hagrid turned with a giant tin can as big as Harry in his fist. "'Arry!" Oblivious to Harry's surprise at seeing a checked orange-and-yellow tie, the half-giant cried out, setting the birdseed down. "Come an' 'ave a cuppa! It's bin ages since yeh've visited!" As if a thought had come thundering down onto him like a rock slide, Hagrid stopped, turning. "Yeh do 'ave permission, don't ya, 'Arry?"

"Yes," Harry lied, full well knowing that if Snape talked to Hagrid the half-giant wouldn't be able to shut up about Harry's visit and his gratitude that Snape had let him out. "I've missed your teacakes, Hagrid." That earned him a broad smile from the professor and a suspicious look from Neville.

"Well, what're yeh waitin' fer? Come in."

Hagrid's cabin was as it usually was; one large main room with smaller storage space created by curtaining off the corners. An enormous table with chairs stood in front of the fire, a giant-sized bed with a faded, handmade quilt sat in a corner, and an assortment of drying or dried herbs and meats hung from the ceiling, just like Harry remembered from the three other times he'd visited. Neville eagerly took a stool as Hagrid started to make tea.

As soon as the chipped and mismatched teacups were set before them with a plate of rock cakes, Hagrid said, "So—yer competin'. In th' tournament."

Neville drank his tea and studiously tried to gnaw on a teacake.

"Yes. You've heard that someone Confunded the Goblet of Fire? How someone had used a lined sheet of paper that I had written my name on for Muggle school?"

Beneath his bushy eyebrows, Hagrid's black eyes looked worried. "Professor Dumbledore said somethin' about it. Also told that yeh entered yerself." Neville choked on his tea. "It's a blessin' that yer name didn' come ou' twice."

"I would have liked it not to come out at all," Harry said darkly, taking a sip of the scalding tea.

Hagrid sighed heavily, a great bellow of air. "Yer parents wouldn've wanted yeh ter put yer name in."

Guilt lanced through Harry. It wasn't even his fault, and yet…

"Gran's been worried about you," Neville said, his apprehension growing more pronounced. "Strange events already happen around you every year. If she hears you—"

"But she won't, will she?" Harry gave Neville a hard look.

A frown set on Neville's face. He gripped the teacup. "It's not right not to tell her."

"If Professor Dumbledore hasn't told her about it, then I doubt she needs to know. My name wasn't picked from the Hogwarts entrants; Diggory's was. Just leave it at that."

Neville blurted out, "Why would you put your name in anyway?"

"It's not any of your business."

"You  _hate_  attention."

"Ron doesn't think so."

"Ron's  _jealous_!" Neville exploded, standing up.

"Easy, Neville," Hagrid soothed. "'Arry isn't meanin' ter upset yeh."

The Gryffindor took a deep breath. "Ron's always complaining about how much attention you get and how you don't deserve it. He hates how I stick up for you." Harry stared into his tea. Because of him, Neville and Ron weren't close then. "I'm right, aren't I? It's completely out of character for you, but you go along with what everyone's saying because you learned what happened our second year. Everybody believed what they wanted to believe, instead of  _listening_  to you.  _Please_ tell us why this is happening, what's going on. I'll believe you."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, discomfort stirring. He couldn't dismiss him as much as he wanted to. "Alright. I'm fairly certain that I sleepwalk and sleeptalk and sleepcast," Harry finally said. "Half the time I don't even know I'm doing it… I'll wake up with my Hogwarts robes on or something gets misplaced. After I was given sleep aids, it hasn't happened again."

Hagrid was eyeing him anxiously. "Blimey, 'Arry. In yer sleep?"

"I know it sounds stupid. Why do you think I don't tell anyone? 'Oh, yes. I  _think_ I broke through the Age Line and entered myself whilst asleep.' That'd go over well: The Boy-Who-Slumbered-Through-Breaking-Professor-Dumbledore's-Spell. Think on it for a moment, how arrogant that sounds. 'Honestly, professor, I didn't hex him! I was sleeping with my eyes open, like Potter!' 'If you're so good, you ought to try sleeping through all your classes! You'd make better marks.' The depths of mockery and derision would be endless." The tea had cooled sufficiently so he took a great swallow to hydrate his suddenly dry mouth. The crackling fire and Fang's breathing were the only sounds filling the little cabin.

"Neville's righ'. Everythin' seems ter happen to yeh, don' it, 'Arry?" Hagrid looked troubled. "An' the Firs' Task is less than three weeks away." He brushed a hand down his bushy beard, eyes looking away from them. "Ah, but I'm not supposed ter say."

"But Harry's champion now. You've got to give him a fighting chance," Neville pleaded.

"It's agains' th'—"

"It's dragons."

"That's why you didn't want to spoil it!" Neville exclaimed at Hagrid. "You  _love_ dragons."

A wizard as big as Hagrid should not squirm in his seat. It already appeared overburdened by his size. "Yes, well…" He cleared his throat, hands raising the teapot to refill their teacups. The tea was sure to be oversteeped and bitter by the looks of it. Harry added several lumps of sugar.

"Tell us about them?"

"Can't. Agains' th' rules."

"There are three different ones they've brought in," Harry informed his brother.

"Four," Hagrid said through clearing his throat.

Ice dropped into his stomach. "What do you mean  _four_?"  _Oh. Damn. The Ministry had only planned for three champions…_ "What did they add? A Norwegian Ridgeback?" Harry half-joked.

"Naw, th' Ministry didn' want ter use poisonous breeds, no venom, spittin' or otherwise, no noxious breath, no toxic spines. An' with yeh bein' an extra champion they weren't expectin'… Dragons are rare enough as it is, an' non-poisonous ones… well, the sweeter ones live in hard ter reach places, y'see. An' they had ter get nestin' mothers…"

Harry's eyebrows drew down. That wasn't in any of the information he'd been given.

"Merlin's beard! Nesting mothers are rumored to be worse than rutting males! What did they bring in?" Neville was fully leaned over the table now, eyes goggling at Hagrid.

"…seein' as how 'Arry already knew about th' others…" He drained his cup, beetle-black eyes gleaming with fevered excitement. "A Hungarian Horntail." Neville made a noise. "An' th' one they found's a beaut. She has black armored scales like Norbert an' burnin' gold eyes. Shoots fire forty feet—twice as far as th' others, an' th' spikes on her tail are somethin' else."

"And because it's how my luck runs, I'll be the one facing it."

"Lucille. That's what I named her. Lucy for short," Hagrid said proudly. "Charlie let me feed her once."

Trying to ignore the way the Gryffindor's face had lost all color, Harry rubbed his face. "Right."

"Harry," Neville whispered tremulously, "You've jinxed yourself."

"Muggles have a sayin' don't they? Knock on wood." Hagrid seemed quite proud to know this.

"Some Muggles believe that to get a wood fairy's blessings will ward away evil. And if I wanted one, I'd rap my knuckles against your table," Harry countered.

Neville laughed, surprising himself. "That's not how you summon them. If it was, we'd never knock on a door!"

" _Ah_ ," Hagrid said, "Nasty critters, wood fairies. Worse than termites they are. "

Stomach cramping with hunger, Harry stood up. "Neville and I should go. Thanks for the tea and cakes."

"Thank you, Hagrid."

Hagrid beamed at them, and then his smile faltered. "Be careful, 'Arry. Trouble's afoot."

"I will." The two students left Hagrid's cabin, hearing the faint strains of musical pipes as they climbed up the hill. The air was chillier outside and the misty dawn light had brightened.

Even through breakfast at the Slytherin table with Prefect Tanya Carmine and her two friends as company, Harry's mind wandered back to his godfather. It had not come to a satisfactory solution about his visit. When Harry stood up to go, he was unsurprised that the three fifth years followed. The Thin Lady gave him a look of disapproval when he gave her the password; he wondered what he'd done wrong. It was probably because Harry wasn't supposed to leave the dungeons alone. Drawn to the warmth the fireplace was radiating, Harry sorely stretched on the warm stone floor. While he was regretting that he hadn't done so right after his run, an idea struck. Sirius might use the fire that was always crackling in the hearth. He didn't have to be  _physically_  present if he only wanted to meet Harry 'face-to-face' using Floo powder without traveling all the way here, something that Harry had read about in a book when he was researching different magical methods of transportation.

He shook his head at himself. Four years in a school of wizardry and witchcraft, and he still had difficulties imagining simple solutions that involved magic. After he cleaned himself up, he pulled on his Spellfast cloak, attached the dark blue pouch which once held draughts to his belt with a Stickfast Hex, grabbed his bookbag, and then left his dorm for the second time that morning. He greatly missed his Invisibility Cloak and Slytherin's dagger; he wondered when the headmaster would decide he could have them back.

Stepping into the common room, Harry was glad to see that someone was awake. Every one of the fourth-year wizards had slept on despite it being eight in the morning, and Harry was loath to disturb them when he had trouble enough without a sleeping draught. "Miss Greengrass," Harry directed to the reading third years, staying exceptionally polite. "Would you mind walking with me to the library?"

Astoria, Moss, and Carpenter looked up at him with nearly identical looks of confusion. "Pardon my boldness, your Grace, but are my friends invited on our walk?"

"Yes, you all can come."

"Wait a moment…" Astoria ran up to the doorway of the boy's stairwell and swung her wand at the seventh year's door. " _Flipendo!_ " A loud knock echoed through the common room.

Prefect Wynch, looking wide-awake, peered out the door. He blinked at Astoria. "Shouldn't you have gotten Dedworth…?"

"His Grace would like an escort to the library. I thought the Head Boy might provide better defense than three third-year girls," she said with perfectly cool demeanor. "Besides, Prefect Dedworth is terrible when woken up on a weekend morning."

"Er," Harry said. "Sorry, Wynch. I have essays to complete."

Opening the door wider, the seventh year waved a careless hand. Harry had never noticed before but the snake on the Head Boy badge looked strikingly similar to a basilisk. "Jonas, Nim, come out would you? We're going to breakfast early."

Two very large young men, easily a head taller than Wynch—who already towered over Harry—stepped out behind the Head Boy. Harry had never been around the two before so he peered at their robes reading their names: Jonas Stange and Nimoy Qynne.

" 'Ello, champion," Stange said. "Righ' this way." The huge seventh year lumbered past Harry, leading them to the exit. Harry had to take three steps to keep up with Stange's long strides.

"Bye, your Grace!" Astoria's voice chirped after the wizards as they headed out of the common room.

Harry stifled the urge to sigh. "Am I required to have an honor guard now?"

Wynch chuckled warmly. "Come now, champion, you can't be that dense." Qynne and Stange chortled on either side of them. When Harry remained silent, the Head Boy said, "I heard you used a Pimple Jinx on a Gryffindor. There are a few angry housemates rallying behind him… We wouldn't want you to have to meet your First Task weakened after a magical ambush, your Grace."

Startling at the sound of someone three years his senior using a title with him, Harry shook his head. "Wynch, why does everyone call me that?"

"You're a duke among lowly commoners," he answered simply.

"I think you might have me confused with Malfoy," Harry said making a face. "I'm obviously  _not_  royalty, and there's nothing  _graceful_  about me."

The three seventh years chortled as if he'd made a joke. "To be more precise, I imagine that blood purity has nothing to do with it… though I can't speak for everyone, of course. What  _I_  see in you is Merlin potential. Like the great Merlin, you remain humble, kind, and merciful, even to your enemies. You could have laid several curses on that Gryffindor instead of just the one, but you didn't. It is that very restraint which won my adherence to your cause some years ago."

" _Cause_?" Harry said distastefully, peering at the older teenager's back.

The Head Boy stopped at the foot of the stairs that would carry them to the Entrance Hall and turned to Harry. "Why, removing the scourge that has plagued our House for centuries."

Tilting his head back, Harry's green eyes met amber ones. "I don't understand what you mean."

Wynch bent and sat onto some steps. Harry was a little taller than eye-level with him. "You are knitting the fracture within our House between those who recoil from the lure of the Dark Arts and those who submit to it. With your audacious nerve and spirited integrity, you've revealed to even the most average of Vipers that it is possible to follow a different path, one that leads neither to the heart of Azkaban or into extreme poverty."

Harry digested the seriousness of his words. "How do you mean?"

"Not many places accept Dark wizards due to the discrimination against us. If we aren't brilliant potioneers or have wealthy sponsors, those of us with an ounce of integrity get paid slave wages compared to others in similar employment. Can't raise a family, let alone make a decent living, unless we live like thugs. And, politics?" The Head Boy shook his head. "The moment we're found to hail from the House of Vipers our political campaign is done."

Mouth dry, Harry whispered, "All I wanted was to be taken for who I am, not which House I was placed in. I didn't do anything special."

Wynch gave him a thoughtful nod. "Then you hadn't noticed that tensions between our House and others have steadily lessened each year you've been here. That even ordinarily antagonistic Slytherins uphold your Code of Ethics, casting magic only in retaliation or giving fair warning before striking? That a well-placed charm can be as equally effective as a hex or curse when deterring bullies?"

Overwhelmed by the ripple effect of his actions, Harry shook his head.

The Head Boy gave him a light smile. "It's November, and I've only given out three detentions to a repeat offender. The other prefects reported similar numbers to our Head of House. Do you realize how remarkable that is?"

"I—I hadn't actually noticed anything," Harry said feeling his face burn. He'd been too preoccupied with his own problems. "I'm a bit thick when it comes to these things."

"I know," Wynch said, straightening. He began to take the steps up, and Harry followed feeling as though he were slogging through a bog. "But… that's not a bad thing if you have proper advisors to keep you informed of the goings-on."

"Are you… offering?" Harry looked at the wizard beside him. He could do with more allies… but surely there was a catch?

"If you'd have me, your Grace," Wynch said.

"Well," Harry said, unsure of how he suddenly found himself in this position.

"You don't need to answer now and I won't be offended if you decline."

"You're not a mind-reader, are you?" he frowned, trying to detect a niggling sensation yet feeling none.

Wynch gently touched Harry's shoulder to stop his ascent and then dropped his hand. "Your Grace, even first years can read and understand your true intentions. That's why our younger Slytherin brothers and sisters hold you in such reverence. We've all been trained from a young age to hide our true selves behind a myriad of masks in order to thrive in this cruel world; yet, you, who have faced narrow-minded intolerance from your own blood-kin, boldly wear your heart on your sleeve. You live in a daring manner bucking the customs of our House and thumbing your nose at authority without being obnoxious about it, unlike others I could name."

Momentarily speechless, Harry stared at the worn stone steps. He hated being reminded of the dark days with the Dursleys and how Harry, though necessarily compliant then, now refused to be cowed by anyone ever again. If everyone could read him so easily, why would they bother looking up to him? He began to climb the stairs again. "If even first years know what's on my mind, that means I'm not terribly cunning," Harry murmured, wishing he was no longer having this conversation.

Stange snorted and Qynne scoffed, startling Harry. He'd gotten so wrapped up with his conversation with Wynch that he'd forgotten they were there, which was funny since they weren't exactly hard to miss.

"I know the truth behind Malfoy's escapades."

Harry stopped again, looking at the steps remaining before him.

"It wasn't right of him. He overstepped a boundary that shouldn't have been spanned, and I'm sorry to hear about it."

"Why are you apologizing for it? You didn't brew the potion or help him with it."

"No, I didn't, but arses like him make us look bad."

"Us?" Hary peered over his shoulder with marked confusion.

"If I told you…" The Head Boy was shifting in an insecure manner like he had second thoughts, remaining where he was a few steps below Harry.

"Told me what?"

"That I may never marry because of my exclusive attraction to wizards, what would you say?"

Harry very nearly stumbled as he spun around so as not to be rude. "Er—" he said awkwardly, "Why would I say anything at all? It's hardly any of  _my_  business who you choose to bed."

"And I suppose you have no idea the rarity of your non-judgmental perspective, especially after having a bad experience," Wynch said.

"Malfoy is a despicable prat with vile pastimes and delusions of grandeur. Besides, why should my opinion matter? I don't live your life. I don't need to know whose bits you like to be your friend."

Harry hadn't realized how tense the Head Boy had been until he'd relaxed enough to smile again. "Well met. Come, your Grace. We'll get a quick bite to eat before we take you to the library."

They entered into the Great Hall through the Entrance Hall where various students were milling about at their respective tables. When Harry saw the badges flash  _HARRY THE FAIRY_  and heard the Gryffindors' laughter, instead of glaring he smiled at them. Several of them fell quiet, leaning over to mutter at one another and to shoot irritated looks at him.  _Yes, you arses, I don't care about your poorly researched insults,_ Harry thought, smile curving into a smirk.

Sitting next to Wynch, Harry quietly read the assigned pages for History of Magic, while they ate. Or at least he attempted to. If the Head Boy was to be believed, Harry had inadvertently taught his housemates that being a Slytherin didn't mean you had to act like a prat like Draco. Harry decided that he would stop pathetically flailing about like a hapless fly caught ointment and make use of his influence. The thought of acting like the role-model to inspire common decency in the rest his housemates filled him with a strange sort of joy, giddy at the edges and proud in the middle. It was not a sensation he was familiar with, yet it felt  _right_.

It wasn't long before he led the group of seventh years to the library. After he spent several hours there, he headed to lunch, where he learned that Rita Skeeter had published an article of him in the  _Daily Prophet._ The copy had come from an unlikely source.

"Harry, I thought you might like to know," Luna Lovegood said, thrusting her arms out towards him with the day's edition of the newspaper.

In the courtyard adjacent to the Great Hall and surrounded by dewy-eyed Slytherin first years, Dennis had gasped when a Ravenclaw used the champion's first name. Harry took the folded newspaper from her. "Thanks. Do I owe you money for it?"

"It's rubbish anyway, since I've never seen your eyes glisten with the ghosts of your past," she said with the light, airy tone of a dreamer. "I only wanted to see what it had to say about you. Well, I have to go now; I hope we'll talk later." And then she turned and left without waiting for a response.

Harry unfolded the newspaper and saw that his photograph was on the center of the front page.

"What's it say, Harry?" Dennis asked with excitement.

The photograph of Harry hardly moved where he stood, looking solemn and dashing with a bare hint of a smile beneath soulful eyes; Harry was very glad that he'd put his foot down about posing. He thought he might have looked like an arrogant twit. Above the goblet-shaped photo in very bold letters were the words 'Teenage Tragedy: Harry Potter and the Quadwizard Cup'.

 _Harry Potter, age 12, is a suspect entrant in the recently renamed Triwizard Tournament. An ugly scar, a souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures his otherwise charming face. His green eyes glisten with the ghosts of his past as our easy conversation turns to the parents he can't even remember. "I expect they'd be proud of me. I know that they'll be watching over me during the tournament," the Hogwarts Champion says, choking back tears, "I'm not ashamed to admit that sometimes I cry about them at night." When asked about his reaction to being removed from his abusive Muggle relatives, Potter responds graciously. "I'm thankful every day that Professor Snape had the presence of mind to report my abuse to the proper authorities. I sometimes wish Mrs. Longbottom hadn't contested his adoption of me. I rather liked living with him; he's really not as bad as they all say."_   _At that he gives a teary smile, revealing the pitiful state of his self-worth._

_It is a sad sight indeed to see this youth so tortured by his past. Due to his mistreatment, he can't stand the sight of a broom cupboard without going to pieces. Was it the trauma of his past that made him keen to enter such a dangerous tournament? One wonders whether his parents, were they alive, would have truly been proud… or concerned about his attitude, which at best represents a pathological need for attention or at worst a psychotic death wish?_

_At least, young Harry has found love at Hogwarts before his life heartbreakingly expires. His close friend, Dennis Creevey, has informed me that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Sally-Anne Perks, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top-ranked students at Hogwarts. In closing, his lack of anxiety for the tasks ahead and his inexperienced level of spellcasting make the choice of him as Hogwarts Champion a story that will end in foreseen tragedy. In the coming weeks, Flour Delicor and Victor Crumb—the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang Champions, respectively—will have their own revealing exposés._

Harry stared at the article for a very long moment, disbelieving what he'd read. Nausea was building within him. He hadn't even talked to Skeeter, let alone said most of these things to anyone,  _ever_. There were such gross inaccuracies on top of that that he nearly wanted to rip the paper in half. At least, any mention of risque non-encounters with Draco Malfoy was left out.

"Excuse me," he said to the reverently whispering eleven-year-olds. "I need to go speak to the Head Boy." Harry would talk to Dennis about the evils of gossip some other time.

"O-oh!" "Sorry!" "Why, of course, your Grace!" "Jenny, move!" "I am!" "Hey, that was  _my_   _hand_." "Are you hurt, Shastri?" "No, it's fine." Came several voices as the group of ten shifted themselves so that Harry could stand up to lean against a wall and leave their tightknit circle.

Paper crinkling in his tight grip, Harry found the Head Boy perched on a bench in the Great Hall and offered the newspaper to him. After Wynch had read it with Stange and Qynne, he didn't look very concerned as he handed the newspaper back to Harry. "Is the bit about you untrue?"

"I didn't even  _talk_  to her. Not to mention that she didn't even print that I'm actually the Salem Institute's Champion and that Cedric Diggory is the Hogwarts champion; the Hufflepuffs are going to think that's my fault," Harry said darkly.

"It could be worse," Qynne said over Wynch's shoulder.

"Yeah," Stange growled.

"I can't see how much worse it could be," Harry said.

"Could've made ya out to be a Dark Wizard," Stange clarified.

Harry looked at the seventh year blankly. "I'm a Potter. From what I've heard, my family has always been more aligned to the Illume Arts."

"And Sally-Anne Perks is a pureblood," Qynne pointed out, "Do you really think that  _facts_  matter all that much to the  _Daily Prophet's_  most popular gossip columnist?"

"But…" Harry glanced down at the article. Not even in his worst nightmares had he dreamed of telling anyone any of the things he was supposed to have told the woman.

"She could have fixated on your survival of the Killing Curse, the ominous portent of your Sorting into Slytherin, or even the unfounded rumor that you set the basilisk on the other students," Wynch said absently. He thumbed through the pages of the book he'd been reading. "She could have made you out to be the next Dark Lord to stoke the public's opinion  _against_  you, instead of inspiring pity and compassion as she has done here."

Harry supposed it  _could_  be worse. "What about the Hufflepuffs? What am I supposed to do with them?"

"I say let the Badgers work out some of their pent-up frustrations. Merlin knows they've been stewing about their lack of fame for years," came the blasé reply.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. He stood there quietly for a few more moments, wondering if he should even bother asking a rather pointless question that was irking him.

"Go on, your Grace. I'm listening," Wynch said.

"Why does she report only my name correctly? I'm fourteen, not twelve. And, she can't even get the other two Champions' names right."

"Ah, so you've noticed that the Anglicized names of the foreign-born champions, have you? It does seem rather contradictory if you didn't understand that it was meant to carry xenophobic and nationalistic fervor in a few tiny mistakes…"

Harry only understood that there were deeper politics at work here.

Qynne winked and held a hand to the side of his face to cover his lips from curious onlookers. "Rita Skeeter's in the pocket of Lucius Malfoy," he whispered conspiratorially.

"If that's true, why  _isn't_  this article worse?"

"Why would the likes of him hold a grudge against a fourteen-year-old?" Qynne shot back suspiciously.

"Well," Harry said swallowing nervously, "I  _did_  sort of trick him into freeing his house-elf. And now Dobby works for me."

Qynne's jaw dropped in shock and Stange barked out a laugh, thumping Qynne's shoulder. "Get a load of this. His Grace don't think he belongs among us, when he's standin' here in one piece after hoodwinkin'  _Lucius Malfoy_." Stange continued to chortle finding this very amusing.

"I wouldn't be here if Professor Snape hadn't interfered. I was twelve and had no idea what I'd done," Harry said grimly.

With that, the amusement wiped off all three of their faces.

"Well, that explains the incorrect reporting of your age..." The Head Boy said dryly, his eyes no longer on the tome in his hands.

"What does it  _mean_ exactly?"

"It means, your Grace, that the current Malfoy Patriarch remembers your slight against him. It is a warning that in no uncertain terms are you take this puff piece by Rita Skeeter as an indication of an open invitation to attempt to end the feud between your families. May I see that article again?"

Harry handed it over to him.

Wynch's eyes ran back and forth as they quickly skimmed the contents again, flipping to the pages needed to read the rest and then returned the newspaper. He pursed his lips in thought, looking distant.

Harry was edgy, bouncing on his toes as he waited.

Finally Wynch said, "He is very eager to see that you tragically perish in your attempt to complete the three tasks set ahead of you."

"Do you think he hired someone to sneak in and drop my name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"I don't believe so… Other than his public support of the tournament, he kept his fingers out of the planning and implementation phases. Bartiemus Crouch, the man in charge of the event, would have put an immediate stop to it had any of Malfoy's supporters offered their help. Saying there's no love lost between Malfoy and Crouch is putting it mildly."

"How do you know all that?" Harry asked.

"One never reveals their sources, especially to one whose mind is open to strangers. After all, you haven't yet argued that what Rita Skeeter published was untrue, have you?"

Harry scowled. "Is she a Legilimens?"

"If she is, she's unregistered," he said. "I'm surprised you haven't asked Professor Snape for lessons in Occlumency yet, when you seem to hold him in such regard." The Head Boy flicked his eyes to the newspaper.

"Would you know  _anyone_   _else_  who might be able teach me?"

The Head Boy chuckled. "Would you be able to trust a common Occlumency tutor not to sell the contents of your mind to someone like Rita Skeeter?"

Harry exhaled loudly, not willing to disclose why exactly it would be an unwise decision on his part to allow Snape into his mind. "You're suggesting that I trust  _him_ , someone who worked for my sworn enemy?"

"Have  _you_  heard of a book deal detailing an ex-Death Eater's two-year account of raising the Boy-Who-Lived?" Wynch paused, while Harry scowled. "No? Me either, even though such a book would be a guaranteed bestseller. I'd wager my life's savings that someone's tried to badger him. Fat lot that did for them when it backfired."

"I can't trust him. Lord Vole's—"

There was a choked spluttering from Qynne and Stange. Wynch's expression merely remained attentive.

"—going to rise from his grave  _sooner_  rather than later. I'd just as soon spill all my secrets to that vole-faced murderer than have that greasy-haired git betray me." Because obviously that would be how it would end if Voldemort ever caught the traitor. Better not to give the greasy-haired git more information than was warranted.

"Ah," The Head Boy glanced at the two seventh years on either side of them, lifting an eyebrow at them. Qynne shook his head ever so slightly while Stange rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

Harry gave them all a very cross look. "What?"

"If you ever change your mind about lessons with Professor Snape, I can set a meeting with him," Wynch said casually, re-opening his book to read.

Harry found it more than a little maddening. "I am  _never_ —"

"Harry, did you—oh, sorry, didn't meant to interrupt, your Grace," a tenor voice called from behind him. Theodore had his own copy of the  _Daily Prophet._  His friend hesitated at the angry look on Harry's face and then asked politely, "Did you need a hug?"

Tearing the copy from Theodore's hands and smashing it together with the one Lovegood had given him, Harry threw the crumpled ball on the ground and jumped onto it several times.

"That has got to be the most passive-aggressive thing I've ever seen you do," Theodore commented, watching him. "You could have just said no."

Without a word, Harry stalked away from the werewolf, glad that the seventh years hadn't laughed at him. Harry's head was hurting from discovering how many layers of meaning could be woven into one stupid article. He wanted to go to his room and pull the covers of his bed over his head and pretend that none of this was happening to him. He couldn't because that would be irresponsible. He had to fix this or at least do damage control before it spiraled too far out of control.

"I didn't mean to be flippant," Theodore said, catching up with little effort. "Why don't we take a walk to the greenhouses, instead? You look like you need it."

Stalking out the front doors of Hogwarts, Harry didn't say a word as they headed down the steps and across the grassy lawn. Theodore respected that Harry didn't want to talk until they'd entered an empty greenhouse. "You know, once Draco reads his copy, he'll be positively  _gleeful_  to see your public endorsement of his godfather."

"I didn't give Skeeter an interview," Harry said shortly.

"Was it all untrue then?"

Harry sighed in agitation. "I just had this conversation with the Head Boy."

"You're not only protecting your secrets, but mine as well," Theodore said, eyes downcast.

"I  _know_  I need Occlumency lessons; no, I won't take them from the likes of Snape; no, I'm not going to invite Draco to teach me; no, I don't think I'll be able to trust anyone else to do it either, not even Professor Dumbledore. Happy?"

"With a pessimistic attitude like that I can see why Skeeter wrote that you might have a psychotic death wish."

Pressing his lips tightly together, Harry shot his friend a dark look.

Theodore let out a snort of amusement. "Last year, Draco told me his little theory about why you jumped in front of that enraged hippogriff… and he used a remarkably similar phrase. Chances are he said it around his father, and then that found its way to a gossip columnist."

"I do not have a death wish nor am I psychotic," Harry told him in no uncertain terms.

"Funny, I remember in our second year how you thought you were hearing voices in the corridors."

Harry's shoulders stiffened, and then he frowned, perplexed. "Are you trying to get a rise out of me? Because tha—"

" _Flipendo!_ "

Harry immediately dove into Theodore, throwing them both behind a thick wooden table. A window blew out behind them. With a kick of both his feet Harry turned the table next to them on its side, so they might have a little bit of cover. " _Protego_!" He tapped his wand against the table and it glowed. Harry's wand was in his shaking hand; he blinked when he recognized the buzzing noise that always filled his head when he was in the middle of danger. It wasn't  _in_  his head; his wand was vibrating. He poked his head out around the table and was nearly hit in the face with a curse. Beside him, Theodore had recovered and held his wand out, leaning against the underside of the table. They exchanged a glance.

"If you distract him, I'll disarm him," Harry hissed through his teeth as more curses sparked against the wood behind them, causing splinters to shower them.

"I surrender!" Theodore said, showing that he had no wand in his hands and Harry immediately shot to his feet, casting " _Expelliarmus!"_

The wand flew from Prefect Renshaw's fist towards Harry, but that didn't do anything about the fifth-year prefect standing next to him.

Theodore let out a muttered oath and they both dove to the ground again as Felix Brunt fired several hexes at them.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Harry shouted at Theodore over the loud bangs firing from Prefect Brunt's wand. The spells scattered uselessly against the table, which Harry tapped again with another protection spell because the other had surely worn out. His friend shrugged unhelpfully.

Harry shoved Renshaw's buzzing wand into the pouch on his belt and then ran his fingers along the only object in it, a half-finished survival pack for the great outdoors. In hindsight, he should have packed charcoal in his pouch. He didn't have anything at hand to precisely draw out the more permanent Runic Patterns for protection.

Brunt's attack was unrelenting as Harry heard him step closer to them. He'd soon be on top of them…

Harry jumped up, in the middle of casting a Shield Charm to deflect whatever Brunt threw at him, and immediately cast an overdone Cheering Charm on Brunt. The older student collapsed into hysterical laughter, but Renshaw grabbed Brunt's wand and Harry had to duck to narrowly miss a nonverbal curse.

"Cover me, Theo," he hissed and then jumped up, running sideways across the greenhouse to provide a moving target. " _Expelliarmus!"_ Harry cried out, narrowly missing Renshaw's frame.

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_  Theodore lobbed the spell at the prefect who immediately dropped to the ground when his limbs locked straight.

Harry quickly retrieved Brunt's wand and shoved it into the blue pouch. "What the bleeding hell was that about?" He called over to his friend, while Brunt's hysterical laughter continued in the background.

"Harry!" Theodore yelled, pointing behind him.

Without needing to look to see who it was, Harry tucked his chin and rolled, red sparks raining down on him from the deflected spells hitting his Spellfast cloak. On his hands and knees, he scampered across the earthen floor under the tables, fingernails catching in the dirt. He kicked several thick, heavy tables over in the process and cast shield charms on them. Breathing deeply, Harry took a moment to try to collect his confused thoughts.

Nearly simultaneous blue bolts singed the air above him, coming from different directions now. He had no idea why he was being attacked and didn't really care at the moment. There was no way to tell  _how_  many attackers there were, either. Frustrated with trying to think up non-doomed strategies, Harry decided on one particular charm that he remembered Hermione using when she was in a bind.

Aiming his wand upward, Harry harshly yelled " _IMMOBULUS!_ " The spell shot out a dome in a blue-white flash, which expanded and dispersed outward in a rolling, crashing wave of light. Waiting a few moments to see if anything else moved, Harry stood up and pressed his lips tightly together at what he saw. All around him were frozen Slytherins in a pincer formation. Prefect Alexandra Sykes, a sixth year, and Prefect Tanya Carmine and three other fifth-year girls had their wands trained above the upended tables that had flimsily protected Harry.

Only their eyes moved as he approached to pluck their wands out of their grip, which he carefully added to his pouch. Suspecting that Theodore was behind the ambush, Harry gave his immobilized year-mate a dark look and then held himself against the open doorway. Slowly, he peeked out around the corner and found more sixth years lying in wait, also frozen. Harry calmly collected their wands and then went around the greenhouse to find an entire contingent of seventh years, except for Qynne, Stange, and Wynch, crouched and ready to storm through the other door.

By the time he'd taken their wands he had close to twenty in his pouch. He returned to Theodore's side and for good measure grabbed his wand as well. " _Finite Incantatem,"_  Harry said, waving the wand over the rigid fourth year. Harry trained their wands on his friend. "Would you like to explain what just happened? Because I don't like being surprised by people I trust."

Theodore raised his hands and quirked a sheepish grin. "A training drill, your Grace. That was first-rate spellwork, and I've only seen Aurors move that fast."

Anger flooded into Harry. He took a deep breath to keep the anger from growing any larger. Snape had to be behind this. It would be just like him. "You are an arse, Theo. A giant. R _uddy_  arse," Harry snarled. When Theodore was about to say something else, Harry tipped the wands at him menacingly. "Are there any others?"

"No, you got them all…" Theo was grinning with pride.

"You will stay here for ten minutes after I release everyone from the Freezing Charm, and then you may enter Hogwarts Castle. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Theodore said more seriously.

Harry backed out of the greenhouse; wands still trained on Theodore, and then cast a Leaping Charm on himself. Mid-turn, he jumped into the air, so he was facing the greenhouse. " _FINITE INCANTATEM,"_  he cast, waving his wand in a large arc in front of him, aiming at his housemates. There was a muffled whumfph as several older students fell over into a silly pile outside the greenhouse.

When Harry landed, he pulled the cowl up on his Spellfast cloak and continued bounding towards Hogwarts Castle. He enjoyed the feel of the breeze in his hair while his feet were off the ground, almost as if he were flying. The cries of casting filled the air behind him and curses and hexes flashed around him, sparking harmlessly off his cloak. He hadn't thought anyone knew wandless magic. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Landing on the stairs going up to Hogwarts Castle, he felt a rumbling beneath his feet, and Harry looked up in astonishment as the doors opened for him. He canceled the Leaping Charm on himself with tap against his chest and sprinted through the Entrance Hall.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice called as he flung himself down the stairs.

"Is someone chasing you?" Neville's voice sprang up beside her. His voice was already fading behind Harry as he ran down the stairs.

Instinctually, Harry felt it wasn't over. The moment he hit the floor of the dungeon corridor, he accidentally set off a Runic Pentagon which sprung a veritable mass of paper in the shape of rope.

" _Incendio!_ " He cried out pointing his wand at the forming bone-white hand reaching for him. The paper disintegrated in a swathe of flames. " _Specialis Revelio_!" He yelled harshly, swinging Theodore's wand at the floor of the corridor.

Every hidden Runic Pattern the spell hit pulsated with light. Before the spell's effects faded completely, Harry ran down the hall, avoiding each trap. Harry again used Scarpin's Revealspell when the lights faded from the floor.

Unfortunately, the heel of his shoe brushed the edge of a Triple Tetradecagon something he'd only ever seen in the Study of Ancient Runes book, and a large amount of black fluid sloshed upward solidifying around his leg.  _"Aguamenti!_ " When the very brief jet of water from Theodore's wand had no effect on the extraordinarily powerful Runic Pattern, Harry quickly cast with his own, " _AQUA ERUCTO!_ " A blast of water with the power of a fire hydrant shot out of the wand's tip throwing Harry backward into the flat wall of the T-intersection that led to the Slytherin House. Coughing when the breath was knocked out of him and again when a crash of water hit him in the face, Harry got unsteadily to his feet and hobbled over to the portrait of woman in emerald flapping a lacy fan at herself.

"You look particularly disheveled tonight," the Thin Lady said crisply.

Soaked to the skin, Harry was panting and trembling from the effort of running and casting so many spells in rapid succession. While his muscles were protesting every movement, he was in too foul a mood to waste time with useless chatter. " _Inheritance_!"

The Thin Lady curtsied at him and the portrait swung open. Harry hobbled through, a wand in each hand, in case someone else might try to hex him.

When he hurried down the common room steps, a hush fell over his housemates. Nobody moved to greet him, not even Dennis Creevey, who must've had second thoughts when Harry glared at him.

Without knocking to gain entrance to the Head of House's Office, Harry slammed it open and stalked towards the dour-looking wizard sitting behind the desk, who raised an eyebrow at his rude entrance. Harry held both wands in his left hand as he ripped off the soaked pouch from his belt, Harry opened it and dumped the contents out. Along with a large splash of water, the confiscated wands clattered to the desk. While his hand was in there, he felt for any more sticks of wood; there weren't any left. He shoved Theodore's wand into the pouch and drew the strings together.

After waving his wand over his desk to dry the water, Snape met Harry's furious glare calmly. Harry glowered at him. "Care to explain, Potter?"

"Out with it," Harry demanded. "You set them on me, didn't you? You put them up to this, attacking me in the greenhouse and then had them line Runic Patterns across the dungeon's main corridor!"

Both of Snape's eyebrows rose in response. He looked down at the wands and studied them briefly, amusement seeping into his stoic features. "Twenty? You defeated twenty seventh, sixth, and fifth years…?" A pleasantly surprised smile curled Snape's thin lips.

Harry snarled, "Don't act dumb! This was your idea!"

Steepling his fingertips together, Snape's black eyes glittered. "As entertaining as that would have been to organize and watch, I unfortunately cannot claim ownership for this. Obviously, their strategist didn't expect much from you this time."

Harry stared at him. " _This_  time?"

"Most certainly there will be a second round."

He made a loud wrathful noise, swinging his arms around and grasping tightly at the air. He began to pace from one side of the narrow, long room to the other.

Smile gone but amusement remaining, Snape discreetly picked up the wands and tucked them into his desk.

Harry spun on his foot throwing his arm out. "There won't  _be_  another time.  _You're_  going to tell them to stop this!"

"Am I now?" Snape drawled as he stood up, watching him. "And why would I do that?"

Harry stopped pacing suddenly, sodden cloak thumping against him, and stared at his Head of House.

"Even if," the Potions Master continued as he clasped his hands behind his back, "Given adequate incentive, why would I desire to do so? Obviously their games are harmless." Walking calmly around the imposing desk, Snape gave him nasty smile. "Otherwise your precious Lionsnakes would have protected you,  _your Grace."_

"You're  _enjoying_  this." Harry's face twisted not entirely sure which emotion it wanted to express most, disbelief, fury, or confusion. "Right. I shouldn't have expected any help from  _you._ " Harry spun on a foot his cloak whipping out behind him and stormed back towards the office door. "I'll take care of it myself!" He yelled over his shoulder, and nearly ran face first into the closed office door. Aiming his wand at the lock, he cast, " _Alohomora!"_ The door opened, but when Harry moved forward it nearly slammed shut on his foot. He cast the Unlocking Charm again and lunged at the door before it could close; the wooden planks slapped him in the gut and he was thrown back to the floor. Even though he wanted another go at the door, Harry lay there, exhausted and breathing hard.

"You will stay here until you have regained your composed objectivity, Potter. In the meantime, feel free to continue battling my door."

"For your information, I was going to head straight to my room, clean myself up, and go to bed, you overprotective bat!" Harry would  _never_  attack his housemates while angry. The risk of death was too high.

The greasy-haired bastard calmly sat in one of the chairs set before his desk, facing Harry. "I do wonder why someone as esteemed as yourself would petition a lowly Head of House for assistance in such a trivial matter, when you can't even trouble yourself when a spark of effulgence does exit your pea-sized brain…"

"What've I done now?" Harry said wearily.

"Don't act stupid. You and your friends knew what you were doing when you petitioned the headmaster directly, bypassing  _my_  authority."

Harry took a very deep breath, staring at the barrel-vaulted ceiling above him. "You're sore that I didn't tell you about the Wizard Studies class," he said flatly. "Look, I didn't cut you out of the process to spite you; I honestly thought you'd block it because of Black's escape last year."

A bitter grimace spread over Snape's sallow features after his cheek twitched at the mention of Sirius. "Get out of my office." He dismissively waved a hand at the door, and it opened.

Staring out the door, Harry's thoughts roiled around. Even though he was still miffed at his friend for pulling that 'training drill', he was worried. If Skeeter could easily skim memories from Harry, what would happen to Theodore if his secret was found out? A lot of things and none of them good, his brain supplied.

"Actually," Harry said coming to a gut decision as he pushed himself off the floor. "I need to ask you for a favor."

"And  _what_  would that be?"

"To teach me Occlumency, sir." Chilled to the bone, Harry cast a quick Drying Charm and then a Warming Charm on himself.

Studying Harry for a long moment down his equally long nose, Snape asked, "What do you think I could impart when Augusta failed at the same task?"

Harry suppressed the urge to sigh. "I didn't  _fail_. She only taught me to clear my mind with meditation while holding odd poses. But I'm not very good at it; I was hoping… I'd have better luck with a more  _hands-on_  approach."

He was studied for another moment, as long fingers rapped against the arm of a chair. "No."

"No?"

Snape gave an irritated sigh. "It is a rather hopeless task to learn if one is unable to separate oneself from an unrelenting tide of thoughts and emotions. Speak to Lovegood. Only when you have mastered the theoretical aspects will I even entertain the possibility of tutoring you."

"You want me to go meditate with Luna?" Harry thought that was a very strange demand.

Snape gave him a murderous look. "No, you imbecile," he sneered at Harry's baffled look and spoke more slowly, " _Express_  your inability to grasp the  _fundamentals_  and  _request her assistance_."

"Oh." Harry stood up, glancing at the door. "And then I may ask you again?"

" _Get out_."

"Right. Sorry," he said and left the office, the door of which slammed so soundly behind him that his ears popped.

Theodore and the others who'd jumped Harry in the greenhouse were waiting in the short corridor.

"He has your wands," Harry told the older years, many of whom did not look very happy about that. "Don't worry; I kept yours, Theo."

"Can I have it back?"

"No." As Harry ran up the stairwell to his dormitory, he grinned to himself imagining Snape's barbed lecture to the older years about being defeated by a single fourth year. At the fourth door, he entered, strode across the room, and fell onto his bed.

"Are you holding my wand hostage?" Theodore's voice sounded uncommonly nervous behind him. Harry ignored him, breathing in the smell of his covers.

In the bed over, Draco snorted in amusement. "How badly did he beat you all?"

"Less than two minutes, Prefect Dedworth made note of it when we became Immobilized."

"I told you it wouldn't work."

Harry rolled over and sat up, glaring at Draco. "You knew and you didn't think to tell me?"

"I only discovered the plan during lunch. I walked by your little group three times."

"Could've been louder about it," Harry groused. Reflecting on his decision to ignore Draco, Harry thought he shouldn't do that again, even if being near him made his skin crawl.

"Why? You saw me, but you seemed happy to snub me for firsties." Unexpectedly a wry smirk came onto Draco's face. "Very paternalistic of you. Countless girls were avidly watching you."

Harry shook his head. "What does that have to do with anything? Warn me next time, even if I don't want to talk to you."

"Of course, your Grace."

With a sigh, an exhausted Harry flopped back onto his bed, whose frame he had recently added with several protection runes, an Inverse Octagonal Rune of Silence to hold in noise, and a Torpor Runic Triangle with a key adjustment to deactivate by a quarter to midnight; he would change it when he wasn't having a clandestine meeting with his godfather. Harry had been surprised to see that his bed and the others already warded against various evils with the same golden runes at prime placements engraved into the wood in all four directions. He wondered who was responsible for them.

His eyes slipped close. Before the Torpor Rune activated, he sat up, swinging his feet over the edge. "Dueling's tonight, isn't it?" Theodore nodded at Harry. "Then I don't have detention.  _Great._ " Harry hopped out of his bed and sat down at his desk, working through reading assignments and several essays that were due next week. Sunlight was waning by the window, when a shadow cleared his throat.

Harry worked out the crick in his neck, rolling his shoulders, and sagged against the chair. "What, Malfoy?"

"Dinner will be served in half an hour, your Grace."

Satisfied with the amount of work he'd completed, Harry stood up and pulled the vest and jacket ensemble down again. He had to wonder what charms Draco had placed on it to prevent wrinkling. "Theo."

His friend leaned back to peek around Crabbe's desk. "Hmm?" He blinked several times. "Oh, is it already time to eat?  _Fantastic_." Throwing his quill down, Theodore adjusted his robes and set out behind Harry to the Great Hall. "May I have my wand back yet?"

"No."

When the food finally arrived, Harry was careful not to eat everything in sight. He didn't need his stomach filled to bursting when it was his turn to duel. Sally-Anne was looking forward to tonight. Before long, they were heading back into the common room, and the sight of the dueling stage sent an unpleasant twist to Harry's belly.

Snape reiterated the same rules Harry had heard years previously, before he stepped to one side of the dueling stage and Wynch stood at the other. Harry was not as familiar with the second-years, owing to the fact that he'd missed their sorting when he'd spent the night in the infirmary. Two wizards, Gupta and Newbourne, stepped up and began as soon as they were told. Their spellwork was absolutely shoddy, but the drive to better their opponent was plain for anyone to see. Even though Newbourne seemed the better caster, he embarrassingly hadn't paid attention to where he was and took a misstep right off the edge of the dueling stage.

Next were two witches, Parangyo and Bainbridge. Their spellwork was better than their year-mates, but it was obvious that they were only there to practice defensive and offensive magic. When Bainbridge cast a reflection spell, Harry drew his wand just in case. Parangyo's next spell ricocheted off and smacked her in the chest. She flew back skidding across the stage, stopping before she fell off. When she stood up and attempted to cast, her voice didn't work. The Head Boy stepped in and forfeited the duel to Bainbridge, owing to Parangyo's mute spell backfiring.

Every third year dueled nearly every other one as if they were in a dueling competition. The best duelists of the year were Roy Harper, Astoria Greengrass, and Flora Carrow. Pike Lestrange was an honorary mention. If he was only a bit more confident in himself, Flora Carrow might not have nailed him with a Sidestep Jinx and sent him tumbling off the stage in his moment of hesitation.

"Perks and Malfoy."

Head held high, Draco mounted the stage on his godfather's side, while Sally-Anne took the other. As soon as they had bowed to one another, Snape said, "Begin."

Draco struck first with a Nail-Growing Curse, and then Sally-Anne performed a bit of advanced magic. Nonverbally, she summoned up a Shield Charm with a flick of her wand, and the curse scattered against it uselessly. Draco threw spell after spell, and yet against someone who could perform a defense nonverbally it was useless. She was twice as fast at casting. Harry quite suddenly realized he needed to learn nonverbal magic before Draco managed it.

Sweat was beading down Draco's face. He was more composed than Harry expected against an immovable object, and then even more incredibly Sally-Anne lobbed a jet of red light at her opponent without casting. Halfway through  _Protego_ , Draco was knocked back, flipping feet over head and sliding the rest of the way. His feet hung over the edge of the stage, and he stood up. Harry would not have patiently waited like Sally-Anne. Draco ran forward, evading another jet of light. He cast a Dancing Feet Spell, as another jet of light shot down towards his feet. He jumped, and the spell sparked to pieces on the dueling stage. His spell nearly hit her, if not for the split-second Shield Charm glowing into existence.

Draco grit his jaw down and then did something nobody expected. He holstered his wand and bowed. "I submit to my better."

Their Head of House clapped, and soon the common room was filled with applause. "Malfoy has forfeited the duel. I concede the match to Perks."

A cheer erupted beside Harry; Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and Bulstrode were shouting praises to Sally-Anne who didn't bat an eye as she left the stage and joined them. They surrounded her and followed her up the girls' staircase, chatting with excitement.

"Malfoy and Potter." The common room suddenly hushed, and awed silence descended.

Theodore patted Harry on the shoulder. "Good luck."

Even though Harry knew his skill was greater than Draco's, trepidation filled him. He hoped Draco would not try to taunt him during the match. They met in the middle, swiping their wands out, and bowed. Draco said not a word, but his expression already looked defeated.

They stood at the opposite ends of the dueling stage, and yet only Harry stepped into a form ready to cast. Draco had holstered his wand.

"Begin."

Harry paused, mid-cast. He half-lowered his wand. "Really, Malfoy? If you aren't going to duel, then give up."

"Then that would defeat the purpose of this duel."

Looking past Draco, Harry saw his godfather with his arms crossed, a dark, nearly matte wand tucked in the crook of his black robes. Whether it was at the ready for Draco or his opponent, Harry wasn't sure. "Don't be stupid. Draw your wand."

Draco instead raised his arms out from his sides and knelt. "I am at your mercy."

The silence around them electrified. They were probably dying to know how Harry would respond.

"Have it your way.  _Cantis._ "

Fluent Italian burst from Draco in a falsetto voice, a one-man opera full of vibrato. Harry didn't need to know what he was saying to understand; his defeated posture begged for forgiveness, his demeanor cried out to have the rapport they once had.

"Get off the stage, Malfoy," Harry said when there was a short pause in the singing when the prat took a breath.

A moan of despair was vocalized through the newly started singing of a tenor as Draco clutched his chest as if he had been stabbed. He held out both hands as if they were covered in blood, moving to stand.

With crisscrossing slashes of his wand, an annoyed Harry cast, " _Everte Statum!"_

Still singing, Draco flipped over backwards. He squawked when he landed heavily. Harry quelled the intense satisfaction he got from the sight of it. The power he had over Draco was heady, nearly overpowering. Instinctively, he knew it was dangerous, knew that Draco had succumbed to the same state of superiority years ago. Harry would not allow pride to get the better of him.

"I don't wallop defenseless arses, even if I do hate them. Either take out your wand or step off." Hoarse Italian flowed when his roommate finally caught his breath. The nitwit shifted until he was prostrating himself before Harry. Harry's lips curled with disgust at the flat, shrewd look Snape was directing at him. He must think Harry was enjoying this. "…Your public groveling sickens me, Malfoy. If you seek my forgiveness, this isn't the way to go about it." Harry stepped off the stage amid shocked gasps from the younger years. His housemates moved aside for him. As he took the steps to his dorm-room, he was pleased to hear Wynch concede the duel.


	11. The Selkies' Riddle

Harry came awake in the middle of the night. Reaching his arm through the hangings around his bed, he quickly retrieved the Glaxxes from his table and placed them on his face. He drew his wand from its holster next to the blue pouch under his pillow and pointed above his head. " _Tempus_ ," he whispered as he'd seen done several times.

Yellow light arced above him forming into numbers, 11:45::07, the two digits farthest right continued adding one to itself as each second passed. The appointed meeting with Sirius was in fifteen minutes. With a whispered  _"Finite Incantatem,"_ the numbers disappeared, and Harry quietly pushed through the hangings.

Holding his breath, Harry snuck out of the dorm-room. Crabbe was breathing loudly, not quite snoring, and only Theodore shifted as if he sensed Harry's passing. Out in the stairwell, which was lit with subdued torches, Harry spun his wand over his head, applying a careful Disillusionment Charm. This would have been the best time to benefit from the Marauder's Map, but that was still with Lupin. He then whispered a Warming Charm to apply to his night robes to keep the chill at bay. He had his health to worry about after all.

As quiet as if he'd unlocked the slider on his old cupboard to steal food from the Dursleys' cooling box, Harry hurried down the stairs in his socked feet. He stepped out the stairwell sensing passive magic tingle over his skin as he passed through the archway, probably a ward of some sort. He sped across the common room to the enormous fireplace where the fire had burned down to glowing embers. He sat with his back facing them, eyeing the stairwell and then the short corridor to the office, but no one appeared. After several tense moments, Harry realized the ward might have been only to keep tabs on who sat in the common room in the dead of night and, possibly, to keep track of how long they stayed up. He whispered a Human Revealspell, but the only presence in the room was him. He turned to the embers and waited. Just as he was wondering whether he needed to stoke the fire up, a soft hissing noise erupted from the coals. He crouched by the fire, waiting patiently.

Sirius' face formed from the embers—the face was different, fuller and much less emaciated than Harry remembered. Harry felt his face break out into a grin, "How're you doing? I heard you were turning yourself in."

"I will very soon. How are you?" Sirius said with a most serious expression. He didn't argue about the necessity of the charm Harry was wearing.

"I'm fine," Harry said easily. It was not precisely the truth, yet he thought there was no need to worry the man who was taking such a large risk.

"Could you take off the charm? I want to see you." Sirius looked at him, orange-red eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that Azkaban had given them—a deadened haunted look. Harry couldn't refuse him and cancelled the spell. Sirius' expression relaxed, the crow's feet in the cinders crinkling into a small smile. "You look better than last year."

"Thanks. You too."

His godfather lost the smile as a stern expression settled over his features. "Now, let's get straight to the reason why I called this meeting before Snivelly interrupts. Did you or did you not put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"Promise you'll listen to what I have to say. And not the rubbish promise most adults break when they don't like what they hear." Harry could tell that Sirius didn't quite understand what he meant even as he made the promise. "I put my name in—"

Sirius sent out a great gasp of air sending sparks everywhere. " _You_ — _?!_ "

"Sirius,  _you promised_ ," Harry hissed.

"That was before I learned—Right. I don't make rubbish promises, but you had to get past an Age Line. How did you—" His godfather didn't look pleased nor furious. There was shock and disappointment mingling with a bit of wonder. He took a breath. "Get on with what you wanted to tell me."

"Whatever you've heard or read from the news, I'm not the Hogwarts champion; my entry wasn't chosen. Cedric Diggory is the Hogwarts Champion. Someone else decided to Confund the Goblet of Fire to make me the sole contender of a nameless fourth school. Professor Dumbledore had to dual-enroll me with the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Witchery to smooth everything out."

"He told me. Whose fireplace do you think I'm using?" Sirius' red-orange face grinned broadly and then his lips downturned grimly. "Harry, people  _die_ in this tournament."

"I know. I'm sorry," Harry said softly, inwardly cursing the soul-shard again.

"The Death Eaters at the World Cup, your name rising from that goblet—These are not just coincidences. Dumbledore promised that he'd keep you safe. A wizard like him doesn't promise things carelessly—it means that Hogwarts  _isn't_   _safe_ anymore. Your enemies have infiltrated."

Harry nodded and then an idea flashed into Harry's mind. "Sirius, I know we haven't got much time, but could you put in a good word with Dumbledore on my behalf? He confiscated my dad's cloak, but it's helped me get out of trouble before. If I had that…"

His godfather gave him an unreadable look. "I'll ask after it, but I make no promises."

"And Hogwarts hasn't really been a safe haven ever since I arrived. Draco Malfoy's been after me to stay home and learn through private tutors."

A loud crackle of an exhale expanded from the hot logs. "Do not trust the word of a Malfoy, even if it's sound advice. That family is not your friend. For all we know they could be plotting to have you assassinated. His father's a—"

"A Death Eater, I know," Harry said. Sirius gave him a long look. The Slytherin added, "I'm not stupid. I'm more concerned with Professor Moody."

Sirius looked at him as fire licked from his eyes and mouth, looking rather frightening now that he was frowning at Harry. "Moody's a good man, and normally I would vouch for him, but lately… Dumbledore said you dropped his class, which means the headmaster must have noticed that something wasn't quite right. They aren't the closest of friends, Moody and Dumbledore, but the headmaster never discounts his instinct." Sirius' eyes fixed Harry with a stare. "You can trust Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey. They've already checked for Polyjuice Potion between themselves. It leaves quite a bit of staff but they should know within a month who isn't the culprit. And you ought to keep your wits sharp around Karkaroff, too. He renounced—"

"I know what he did, and it made him a traitor to Lord Vole—"

A snort of cinders erupted. "Good one, James."

"—something that wouldn't go unpunished," Harry finished more hesitantly, expecting his godfather to correct his mistake and feeling odd when he didn't. "And Karkaroff ratted out other Death Eaters. They would all be out for his blood. He wouldn't—"

"Harry, if he delivers you to Voldemort, then everything would be forgiven. The myth of a reformed Death Eater is a  _lie_. No one, and I mean  _no one_  stops being a Death Eater… That man's taught the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his, so you should watch out for that Durmstrang champion as well."

"Krum isn't evil," Harry said bluntly. "He's a wicked good seeker, I'll grant you that, but he's not—"

" _No, Harry_ ," Sirius growled. "Anybody who studies heavily in the Dark Arts, you can't trust them. It warps them."

 _Then you can't trust me either_ , Harry wanted to say, but refrained. A Fire-Call wasn't the best way to blurt something like that out. Anyone could be listening in.

Sirius must have seen something in his expression because he changed the topic. "Did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" Harry said, feigning curiosity. He didn't feel the slightest bit guilty that he hadn't told his godfather about the visions. He had a feeling that Sirius would not react well to the news.

"The same… she disappeared in Georgia, where Voldemort was rumored to be last… and she would have known that the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she? Considering the Department she worked for."

Obviously Harry's godfather wasn't privy to all information Dumbledore knew. The Ministry supposedly suspected that already and had wisely decided to keep that out of the public eye. "What about her?"

"I knew her," Sirius said grimly, "She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Harry. She might've been lured into a trap."

His godfather was clever if he'd been able to sniff out what had happened based off of circumstantial evidence. Harry's mind raced, wondering what he should say.

"You already knew? Harry, you should have written—"

"And wrote what, exactly? If you hadn't noticed, you're  _on trial_. Why should I make you worry—"

"Because that's what godfathers bloody do when their godsons are orphaned and raised by hateful Muggles! Keeping secrets from me will make me worry  _more_  rather than less." Sirius sighed when Harry was at a loss for words and closed his eyes for a bit. "I didn't mean to lecture. I wanted to help you with the First Task," Sirius said speaking quickly so that Harry could not interrupt, "There's a way to disable the dragons—did you know there were dragons? You're not surprised, good—and don't be tempted to try a Stunning spell—dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards to overcome a dragon—Use the Conjunctivitis Curse, it'll blind them and—"

"I have it well in hand, Sirius. I've known about them for a month and I've three main strategies to use and a back-up if none of them work." Harry smiled in a reassuring manner. "I'll be fine."

Besides, the hex to induce pinkeye wouldn't work well against a beast easily the size of a small house, especially not one who was excessively aggressive. Though blinded, the dragon would seek to rout Harry out with her nose and attack with fire or simply crush him.

"I've been receiving a flurry of letters from…" And here a sneer crossed his features before flattening, "Your Head of House. A backlog of incident reports and quarterly write-ups spanning from your first year to present-day... Did you really bloody the nose of Lucius Malfoy's heir and beat down two other students twice your size all by yourself without a single spell?"

Harry nodded, feeling a bit anxious. He'd expected his godfather to praise him for rescuing the dragon or protecting the Philosopher's Stone, not focus on what he shouldn't have done. His shoulders hunched with his discomfort. Harry wasn't proud of losing his temper.

"I'm proud of you."

That sudden statement was jarring in its depth of warmth and breadth of immodesty. Harry felt the back of his neck heat with embarrassment. "There's nothing noble about resorting to violence."

"At times, it's necessary. I would have beaten the little prick too if he had insulted Lily." Sirius waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "And you rescued a Ginevra Weasley from the clutches of spirit-possession? Battling a basilisk for the fair lady's life?"

He felt his face warm. His lips would not come unstuck to correct him. He'd never felt so mortified, and a part of him was both smarting that it had been Snape who'd done the Slytherin's monster in and miffed that his godfather would likely never believe the truth. But whatever he was going to say died on his lips.

Sirius' eyes had grown hard. "And studying the Dark Arts… Harry, I don't know why you thought you needed it, but it won't help you win against Voldemort." An arrested look crossed Harry's features, but Sirius never looked away. "Yes, I know about the duel last year with Snivelly. It was quite an extensive write-up. I could tell he was jealous that you achieved so much at your age with little formal training, and by nearly besting him your skill is already better than most Death Eaters. But Harry, using the Dark Arts, torturing and killing with magic… it's harmful to the mind and soul—"

"You aren't telling me anything new." There was a grinding noise behind him, so Harry hissed, "Someone's coming!"

"Stay sharp and keep in touch," Sirius said and then his face disappeared in a cloud of ashes. Harry frowned. Well, it wouldn't do to tell his godfather about the soul-shard. He'd probably demand that Dumbledore have it excised from Harry's MVS, preferring a dead godson over one tainted by a piece of Voldemort's corrupted soul. No, it was best not to tell him about it. Harry rather liked living so long as he was in control. Hearing soft shuffling from behind him, the Slytherin remained where he was sitting as he stared into the flames.

"A bit late to be up…" Mervyn Wynch's voice said over him. "Harry." Silently, Harry turned. Wynch was dressed in flowing green night-robes. "Someone was warning you to stay sharp… I have a good guess as to who that would be."

It wasn't hard to imagine how Snape would react to the fact that Sirius' face had appeared within the walls of the common room should he be notified of it. Raising a massive stink about it didn't even begin to cover the colossal mess Harry would be in, champion or no.

"I'll have sentries posted in case you are so desirous of another such meeting with a fugitive again. Even if he wasn't, there are procedures in place to make a Fire-Call to those in charge of you," the Head Boy said with a languid drawl. Looking Harry over, he sat down on the nearest couch. "Let's have a chat. Shall we?"

In an obliging mood, Harry sank into the nearest chair. "About what?"

"About anything. You could talk about your godfather, your struggle with Transfigurations, your studies with Principal Oke… really whatever comes to mind."

"I miss playing chess with Gilbert," Harry said and meant it. The prefect had become a mentor to him, but had been too busy preparing for the all-important N.E.W.T.s for Harry to feel right bothering him.

"Well, Ivan's a decent player, if you ever want a go. Not as good as Gill, but decent enough."

Thoughts tumbled through Harry's mind unbidden. The ever-present nightmares of countless deaths by his hands influenced no doubt by his fears of the soul-shard, Moody's smirk when his name was chosen, the lack of 'visions' since Hestia Jones had passed away… And the niggling feeling of someone touching his mind. "Stop reading my mind," Harry growled. "It's bad enough that Snape does it on a regular basis."

Surprise flickered across Wynch's face. "That wasn't even proper Legilimency. Supposed to be undetectable."

Harry simply scowled. He'd have to keep that information to himself in the future.

"My apologies. You were lost in thought for so long, I didn't know if you were having a small seizure." The Head Boy crossed his right arm across his chest to lightly touch his opposite shoulder, bowing his head. "But Legilimency is not what Muggles call telepathy or mind-reading, your Grace." He looked up as if reciting from memory, "The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure. One's thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls to be perused by an invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered apparatus."

Before Harry could absorb all that completely, he stared at Wynch realizing why he was usually so at ease with the other boy. "You're a Muggle-born, aren't you?" It was strange that the Head Boy had escaped Draco's notice. Harry hadn't missed that there were housemates that Draco completely ignored as if they didn't even exist.

A lazy smile crossed the older teen's features. "Very good, Harry. What gave it away?"

"I doubt magical folk would have even heard of the term telepathy."

Wynch chuckled warmly. "Ah, yes… Well, my chef d'oeuvre will be an extensive collection of writings that will correct the various inaccuracies wizards and witches have about Muggles. I've already had several little-known books published; They've caused quite a controversy. All the leading Muggle experts think I'm a sham, a fake." A look of relish entered his features. "Oh, how little they know…"

"What sort of books?"

"Ones dealing with a multitude of 'Muggle Curiosities'. I'm most focused on Muggle technology." Catching Harry's interested look, pure avarice filled Wynch's expression before he was able to shutter it. "I'll provide all the copies you want, for _free_. So long as you read them and give me feedback."

"You want a glowing celebrity endorsement?"

"Yes."

"I don't need free ones to provide that. And if it's any good, I'll need to buy lots of copies of whatever beginner's version you have."

Wynch had raised his hand as if appearing to argue Harry down from his point, but instead his jaw flapped open. "You're _serious_?"

"That's not enough? Alright, I'll sponsor you… once I have access to my vault. That's essentially what you want, right?"

Making a noise in his throat, Wynch's mouth opened and then closed and then opened again. "I can't let you do that."

With a wry grin, Harry cocked his head to the side. "I hate explaining what 'eleck-trickity' is or what the plugs on the end of 'dee-vices' are, and I thought I might write something but I already have fame in abundance and I'm about  _sick to death_ of writing. It isn't something I enjoy."

"I suppose when you put it that way it's not that bad of a deal for you..." Wynch said trailing off. "I'll accept the rest, but I won't let you sponsor me."

"Why not?" After rubbing elbows at the very boring yet extravagant parties in Malfoy Manor, Harry had learned that sponsorship was one way a witch or wizard could make a living. There had been plenty of people trying to schmooze Draco's father, even some desperate enough to try to butter Draco up for the chance at the Galleons of money sitting in his parents' vault. "You're not already obscenely wealthy or have a rich relative who's promised to leave a sizable inheritance to you, do you?"

"Ah, no…" Wynch's face colored some. "Quite the opposite. I was disowned during my fourth year."

"Because you were a wizard?"

The Head Boy cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "My bedroom proclivities."

" _Oh_ ," Harry said. Mervyn Wynch had confessed earlier that he was certifiably queer, a poof, a woofter, a nancy-boy, a bender; words that were offensive and demeaning. Every single one of them had been thrown at the much smaller Harry by school bullies in his past. Their favorite had been Harry the Fairy, which the uncreative Finnigan had likely gleaned from the Skeeter book. "Then why can't I sponsor you?"

Wynch smiled, though it was bittersweet. "Harry,  _publicly_ sponsoring me would only tear your reputation down."

"I could do it privately?" Harry said instead of arguing that he didn't really care about his reputation. He'd learned that it was harder to convince someone to join his way of thinking than to make a compromise he was willing to agree to.

Letting out a bit of surprised and relieved laughter, Wynch stood up and looked towards the dying embers in the grate. "Let me see if I understand this. You wish to pay for my living expenses and provide a livable wage for the rest of my life in exchange for writing books? You don't want anything else?"

"I wouldn't mind having advice now and then."

Wynch had a small smile play over his face. "Very well. I accept your sponsorship. And because I was impressed by your restraint during the duel, I'll even have a go at a chancy bit of magic to speed the process up. If you'd have me."

Harry had a strange sense of vertigo when the Head Boy had taken Harry's wand-hand into his and knelt. Wynch wasn't about to propose to him or something equally stupid, was he? "What're you doing?"

"I would like to swear a blood fealty to you." Amber brown met green steadily.

Harry's breath hitched at the thought of  _power_  that would bring. If they went through such a thing, Wynch wouldn't be able to refuse anything from him; Harry would have dominion over his life.  _Merlin._  "That isn't something you can take back."

"I'm fully aware of that. Do you know how it works?"

"Well enough, but Wynch, you can't just decide on a whim to bind yourself to someone. I hardly know you, and besides it's illegal for minors to engage in it, isn't it? And if you're caught—"

"As long as you're willing, it'll do." The smile hadn't left his face. " _Upon my blood, I swear_ —"

Yanking his hand from Wynch's, Harry knew it was too late, even as he crawled across the couch away from the kneeling older teen. "You're mad," he hissed. Despite the lack of contact, the magic hadn't left Harry; he felt it tingling along his arm. The Head Boy knew what he was doing. Perhaps this had been the catch all along… to tie his future to the infamous Harry Potter. Yet it wasn't without considerable danger for the one becoming bloodsworn to another.

"— _to uphold the honor of the House of Potter_ —"

The tingling grew stronger, crawling through his shoulder. Harry's hand clenched over it uselessly as if it might hold the tide back, and then the magic dove inside of Harry's chest, bursting through him. He yelped at the shock-like pain. The older boy still had his hand upraised in supplication, and his eyes trained on Harry. His amber eyes were glowing and he was looking distant as if in a trance.

"— _to defend their secrets, and to secure their bloodline_ —"

Harry caught himself reaching forward to throttle Wynch. The desire to choke others seemed to rise when the limit of Harry's tolerance for stupidity was reached. If Harry refused the blood fealty at this stage, the magical backlash could be lethal with so much channeling through them. The sound of stone grinding alerted Harry, and he looked up to see that the wall between two conspicuous pillars was opening. He dropped his eyes to Wynch's distant ones again. Harry would kill Voldemort once and for all, but he was fairly sure he'd die in the process, and dying without an heir… The backlash would damage Wynch, and he would end up a Squib forever.  _Wouldn't be my fault, would it?_   _He's the one who was so eager to bind himself to my bloodline,_  Harry thought.

"— _to the end of my days, until the life of this illegitimate child of the House of Wynch extinguishes_."

Then, Harry felt intense pressure near his heart. He pressed his hands against his chest. The heavy magic had not left yet. Harry gasped out thinking he might suffocate. He stood up wishing he had easy access to fresh air. His legs carried him a few steps before they weakly folded underneath him, causing him to flop onto the couch Wynch had occupied earlier.

"My Lord," Mervyn Wynch said with his hand motionlessly upturned to Harry, "Do you accept?"

Harry opened his mouth, wheezing.

"Potter, don't say another word _._ " Snape's voice was clear and awake and  _quite_  angry.

Swiveling his head towards the Potions Master, Harry was unnerved to feel Wynch's blank stare. He opened his mouth to explain, but at the furious expression directed at him Harry shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked.

"You have three options. Refuse to speak until death claims him while you feel every agonizing moment, outright reject him and allow him to immediately die at your feet, or accept his magical vow and allow him to live."

The older teen had asked circumspectly for permission. Harry still had the choice to say no, and Snape would witness the cold, hard edge of that decision without blinking or flinching. Wynch would die, with no family to grieve or bury him, and the headmaster would cover for Harry. Post mortem Wynch would be found guilty of attempting to force a minor into a blood fealty and the matter would be closed. But Harry would never forgive himself for the needless death of a housemate. The pain of refusal would torment for years to come. However, if he accepted, he would have an ally who he could trust implicitly.

With a sigh of defeat, Harry reached out and clasped Wynch's hand, which closed around his. Unfortunately, Harry didn't know the finishing words of a blood oath; he had never expected to perform one! He looked up at Professor Snape, who had moved to his side. Harry was surprised by what he saw in the adult's black eyes: Pity  _and_  approval. Within moments, the short black wand was drawn and pointed towards their clasped hands.

"Repeat after me, Potter. I hereby swear upon the name and blood of the House of Potter," Snape said as if it were not a matter of life and death for Wynch.

" _I hereby swear, upon the name and blood of the House of Potter_ ," Harry repeated and felt the heavy pressure of magic burst through whatever had stopped it. It burrowed deeply into his chest, wandering, expanding,  _seeking_. Harry let out a strangled gasp and he would have fallen over if the Potions Master hadn't caught him. Harry's impulse was to wrench away, yet the intensity of cloying magic made that impossible. He had lost feeling below his abdomen.

"To sponsor, assist, and protect this illegitimate child of Wynch," Snape said slowly.

Harry spoke the words, as the other wizard's magic coursed through him, hot and soothing at once. Harry felt a bit feverish, and his scar was aching fiercely, throbbing in counterpoint to Harry's heart. A buzzing had filled his head to the point where he almost couldn't hear Snape's last words. The adult's hand was like vice about Harry's bicep, keeping him upright on the couch so he could finish the powerful binding.

" _To the end of the Potter bloodline. So shall it be_ ," Harry whispered the words and then all that magic roaring through him rushed down his arm into Wynch's hand.

The Head Boy exhaled, " _So shall it be until my breath ends_."

Gently, Harry was lowered to the couch as something locked inside of him. Feeling tender in odd places, he laid there staring up at the barrel-vaulted ceiling of the common room as the black shadow moved away from him. His eyes watered, until he remembered he needed to blink.

Wynch moved forward upon his knees, peering down at Harry on the couch. With his right hand the Head Boy crossed his arm against his chest to touch his left shoulder and bowed. "I am yours to command, my Lord."

"I don't make commands… Unless I've gone mad like you, and then I certainly don't expect them to be followed," Harry said. His voice seemed faraway and hoarse. The scar was like an open sore on his forehead, burning and itching painfully. Harry was surprised that there wasn't blood dripping down his face.

"You're no fun at all," Wynch said informally, dropping his hands to his legs. "I was looking forward to being ordered about."

"I'd throttle you, but I don't know where my hands are."

Amber blinked down at him and then a chuckle washed over Harry. The wizard began to speak again, but Harry was already drifting away. The pain was lessening the farther he drifted, until he was no longer cognizant of anything around him.

* * *

It was late Sunday morning when Harry woke up. He tried to raise himself up and groaned when he couldn't do it. His head was pounding and the light streaming in through the windows was unbearable. Whose brilliant idea had it been to draw the curtains back?

A shadow leaned over him, hands pressed into the covers. "Harry, I've got to practice Charms homework," Theodore said. "May I have my wand back yet?"

"It's…" Harry's brain was scrambled. For a moment he couldn't remember why he would have it. "Wait." Harry shoved an unsteady hand under his pillow and weakly pulled out Theodore's wand from the pouch. "Take it."

His friend slipped the stick of wood from Harry's weak, spasming fingers and then cooed at it. "Oh, I've missed you, you precious, precious wand."

"Theo, shut up," Harry groaned, curling up on his side so he could press his face into the coolness of his pillow.

"Can't. Professor Snape said—nay, ordered me to take you to the Great Hall for lunch. You skipped a meal already. That on top of exhausting yourself yesterday."

Harry's thoughts were sluggish, and the tenderness he'd had earlier had amplified in head-splitting pain. Even now, muscles spasmed or twitched, sending lancing pain up his legs and arms as if he'd run a marathon without practicing or stretching first. He tried to remember what he'd done to deserve it.

There was a sound of a cork popping out of a vial. "Harry, roll over. I've got a remedy for you."

Ever so slowly, Harry rolled onto his back. Theodore pushed the covers completely off of him. As soon as the cloudy potion hit Harry's tongue, the intense pain and aches rolled away and Harry relaxed into his bed. His head and body felt light, too light judging by the way Harry nearly threw himself out of the bed when he tried to sit up. If not for Theodore's warm arm which caught him around the middle, Harry would have tumbled onto the floor. It felt amazing. "Easy now. It hasn't completely taken effect yet." Theodore's words seemed sped up, making him sound as if he was dosed on helium.

Harry laughed, swaying. "Whaaat waaas thaaaat—tuh. Tuh." Harry clamped down on his lips. He sorely wanted to play with sounds, though logically he knew that it would make him sound silly.

Theodore sniffed the empty vial and then let out a surprised giggle. "Oh, um. Did not expect that. This is what I used to take on bad days: Death's Door Respite. It's… Well. It helps your overstressed MVS. Up, up." Theodore set the empty vial down and maneuvered his arms so that he could help Harry stand.

Harry could feel the blood rushing down from his head and through the rest of him to his toes. It was incredible. Harry had never felt better. He grinned. When Theodore grinned back, the sensation of reciprocity filled Harry with blissful joy. That was when a worm of panic snuck in. Harry shut his eyes to impede some of the terrific feelings so he wouldn't be completely nonsensical. "I'mmm nooot uuunderrr thhhhe Imperrrriouuussss Cuuuuurrrrrrse?"

"No, Harry. You've taken a potion and it's messing with your perceptions. Now, lean on me. Walking helps."

Harry only meant to lean a little, but he flopped against Theodore. "S'rryyyy," he slurred.

"I really should've given you a half-dose. I hadn't expected Professor Snape to give you DD. It's not like you're dangerously ill." Theodore helped him walk. The world spun a bit and then it began to sway like an endless ocean, and Harry was bobbing in it. Glee swam through Harry. He couldn't ever remember a time where he felt this good. "Draco, can you spell some Refreshening Charms?"

A murmuring later, and Harry smelled fresher. "Freshhhhh laundryyyy," he mumbled inaudibly against Theodore's shoulder. He took a deep breath and then another.

"Stop that before you start hyperventilating," a sharp voice cut through like acid.

"Goooooood smeeeeells," Harry warbled uncertainly.

A hand pressed his face against the warm shoulder. "It's alright, Harry. In a few more moments, you won't be muddled anymore. It's going to feel odd, like someone had wrapped gauze around you. You won't be able to channel magic, but you'll be fine, eh? That's why we're here in case it's too much for you. Sally-Anne's waiting for us in the common room. She'll protect us from anyone who tries anything."

The other voice scoffed loudly, but Theodore ignored him, so Harry did too.

It was gradual the way the world stopped tilting and rocking, but too soon the good feelings left and Harry was feeling ruddy awful. Without warning, he shoved Theodore away. "What the bloody hell—" Something wasn't right. Worse than that, it was the very opposite of right. The ecstasy he'd been feeling fled from him as if someone had dropped him from an obscenely tall height and he had nothing to stop his blood and guts from splattering everywhere. Harry lunged for his pillow to draw his wand. He attempted a simple Cheering Charm, but  _nothing happened_. His sense of magic was rapidly disappearing; maybe if he brought it out, maybe it would come back. But he couldn't bring it out. Draco snagged the holly wand from him. Harry was sickly on the inside, an abject failure, an aberration, a freak among freaks.  _Why didn't Voldemort kill me good and proper? At least I'd be with my parents and not here while the world is falling apart._ As several people breathed in sharply, and Harry continued to pace, muttering under his breath. He felt trodding awful.

"Harry, that's the potion, remember? Not any  _freakish_ failure on your part. You can't use your magic until it wears off which won't be for another twenty hours." Theodore's voice was gentling. It wasn't until Theodore placed firm hands on his shoulders that Harry stopped relentlessly pacing.

Foot tapping in agitation, Harry took in a shuddering breath. "Potion?" He rubbed his face. A flush of pleasant memory surged through him. His teeth and tongue ached for the taste of that salty potion that brought an abundance of pleasure. Everything felt so drab in comparison. He took in a sharp breath, forcing the tantalizing memory away. Plastering on a smile, a smile that was nearly never real, Harry said, "My wand, Draco."

As soon as the wand touched his hand, Harry was saddened that it felt like an absolutely ordinary stick of wood. He took his holster and placed the wand gently into it. Feeling the loss of his magic like a thorn in his side, Harry took his time dressing the old-fashioned way. Attaching both his holster and pouch onto his person, Harry grabbed ahold of a part of his Spellfast Cloak. There was an absence of a subtle sensation he'd never noticed until it was gone. The smile on his face grew ever more brittle. "Let's go eat." He left the room. Seventy-eight steps down. Into the common room, ninety-nine steps before they exited.

"Oh good, you're awake!" A witch with short brown hair and glasses bounced happily. He nodded and smiled at Sally-Anne as he passed. "Harry?"

Through the portrait-hole. Two hundred one steps, and then up the stairs, one hundred fifty-four steps. Forty-five steps across the Entrance Hall.  _Merlin, this had to be worse than being a Squib_. He couldn't sense  _anything_ , no prickling of wards, no sense of where others were in relation to him… He'd had no idea how much he relied on that to stop from bumping into his classmates. Others jostled into him, stuttering when they realized who he was. In a bizarre way, it was a bit amazing. He'd always been the center of attention before, and now he seemed a bit… well…  _invisible_. Momentarily his mind wandered, wondering idly if Sally-Anne had learned to suppress her magic in a way that made her seem invisible. Harry wondered whether Muggles would feel invisible to him, too…

His friends on either side of him, Harry stopped at the open double doors where the smells of Sunday breakfast wafted over them. The Gryffindors' newest taunting was loud—quoting a strange amalgamation of tidbits from Skeeter's article and biography. He noticed that their badges had changed from  _HARRY THE FAIRY_ to  _POTTY STINKS._  It wasn't like Harry hadn't endured that uninventive insult all of his life.

"Want a hanky, wee Potty?" Finnigan yelled from half a hall away. A quarter of the Gryffindors roared with approval, but Harry noticed that many of the others, largely the older years, didn't.

"He doesn't ever learn," Sally-Anne said with exasperation beside Harry.

Theodore gave Harry a hopeful smile. "Can't I hex him, just a bit? It'd be worth the detention."

"No." Harry didn't budge, as he memorized Finnigan's face. Something Dark stirred in him, whispering indistinctly, yet it couldn't reach him. He shivered a bit when he realized how much influence it had and then relief filtered into him. There was a way to block the soul-shard's access to his mind! But Harry suspected the potion was not one he could regularly take. In addition, he  _needed_ the ability to perform magic for both his protection and learning. However, as a last resort, the potion would provide a much-needed final opportunity.

Waving a dainty handkerchief, the Gryffindor swaggered. "For when you start cryin' for mummy and daddy!" He balled it up and tossed it towards Harry, who had already been jostled behind Draco and Sally-Anne, but someone cried, " _Reducto!"_  and it disintegrated into particles that immediately dropped to the floor.

"Leave him alone," Ginny's voice threatened.

"Or you'll do what, girlie?" Finnigan turned a nasty look on the shorter redhead.

"Hey! Your face is finally fixed, Seamus!" One of the Weasley twins said with a gasp as the two sixth years sidled up next to him on either side. Harry noticed that the dog collars were gone; it must mean that they finally apologized to Ms. Oke. "I didn't even notice! Did you, George?"

"No, no I didn't at all." George leaned into Finnigan's space, causing the fourth year to lean back. "What're you talking to our sister for? Need some tips on moisturizing salves for your face? Oh, what's that?" The sixth year pointed at a spot under his nose, tsking. "Looks like the jinx might be coming back."

Finnigan looked down, and George flicked his nose hard. He and his brother laughed as the younger Gryffindor yelped and clapped his hand over his reddened nose. When he felt no protrusions, the rest of his face went crimson as he turned back to the twins. "There's nothin' wrong with me face, you bloody gingers!"

"Ooo, he called my hair orange. I think my feelings might be hurt, Fred…"

"Oh,  _cruel world_ …!" Fred said with a forlorn tone, throwing himself into his brother's arms. "I  _never wanted_  orange hair. Alas, it was our fates determined by our parents' fiery manes!"

George stroked his twin's hair. "Why'd you have to go and bring our tragic backstory up, Shamey? You should've remembered why that isn't very smart…"

The Gryffindor's face had quite suddenly paled as his eyes grew wide with fear. "…Didn't mean to offend either o' you."

"Really? Then why're you wearing a badge that says  _POTTY STINKS_? Are you complaining about the house-elves' hard and unjust toils on our toilets? I think Hermione might have a word or two to say about that."

Finnigan's complexion had gone waxy, and his voice grew tremulous. He might have backed up if his knees weren't already pressed to the benchseat. "No."

"Then why're you  _wearing_  it? Surely you can't be referring to… Parselmouth Potter?" George said slowly and Fred's eyes were gleaming beneath George's hand that was still cupped around his head.

The bully made an incoherent noise. Harry was quite fascinated at the Weasley twins' tactics.

"I'm much better now, George…" Fred said darkly, reaching forward and plucking the badge from Finnigan's robes. "Gin-gin, your turn."

Fred flicked it into the air. Ginny hit it with another well-placed, " _Reducto!_ " As one, her older brothers turned to Finnigan, stepping even closer until their noses nearly touched either of his cheeks. Finnigan's trembling knees didn't resist when he was pushed to sit. "Certainly a half-wit would realize that we Pleasant Pals don't appreciate the bullying of Parselmouth Potter…" They said together, "Especially when our mother wouldn't approve of it."

Fred grinned ferally. "You recall what Charlie said, George? How she was in floods after the article about him?"

George tilted his head back his eyes watering. With a high and anxious voice that sounded like Ron's Howler from two years ago, he howled right into Finnigan's face, " _'He still cries about his parents! Oh, bless him, I never knew!_ '"

Wincing at the flecks of spittle spewing from George's mouth, Finnigan was getting smaller and smaller where he sat. "It was only a bit o' fun, Potter knew that. Din't'cha, Potter?" The Gryffindor looked imploringly at Harry. Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Theodore lightly patted Harry's shoulder. "Poor, mate. He cried himself to sleep again, knowing he'd be bullied today."

Harry shot him a dark look; he'd done no such thing!

"Oh, really? We are so terribly, terribly  _distraught_  to hear it," Fred said sounding rather miserable. Quite suddenly, he latched onto Finnigan's arms, pinning them tightly to his back, and slammed him face-first into the long table. Poor Finnigan let out a yelp when his lip split against his teeth. Not a single Lion leapt in to help their hapless housemate.

"I won't do it again!" Finnigan's eyes roved frantically over Harry's blank face for some shred of sympathy. It was too bad Harry didn't feel any. "Tell them it was only a wee bit o' fun!" When Harry simply looked at him, Fred yanked on Finnigan's arm eliciting a painful whimper from the fourth-year. "It was a feckin' joke, no harm in that!" Blood was dripping down his chin now, and Harry let himself relish the sight of the panicked Gryffindor.

"Now, Shamey, we've been patient with you and your thickheaded ways. But see those badges, we don't approve of them—"

"TURN THEM IN!" Finnigan screamed at the other Gryffindors, his voice breaking in a pathetic manner. A crowd of students from other houses were gathering around to view the spectacle. Fred dug an elbow into the fourth year's back. "Now, you've gone and interrupted us."

"And we don't like repeating ourselves, Shamey," George cooed into his ear as he began to unwrap a confection from paper. "You owe someone an apology."

"I'M SORRY, POTTY—NO, NOO!" Red-faced Finnigan screamed incoherently as George forced the sweet into his mouth and forced his jaw shut.

" _WHAT THE BLAZES IS GOING ON HERE?!_ " Professor McGonagall's voice rang off the walls, causing all conversation within the Great Hall to cease.

Just as she pushed past the crowd of students, Fred and George backed off looking totally innocent as badges were clanking on the table. Finnigan was cradling his arm like a nursing child, while his face was runny with tears of relief. His tongue—at least what Harry thought was his tongue—was at least a foot long, purple, and bulbous, hanging from between his lips like an overlarge snake. Drool slimily dripped from Finnigan's bloody chin as he breathed heavily in and out of his nose, tongue lolling now and then.

"Return to your tables!" Professor McGonagall ordered.

Theodore grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him to their table amid the wash of students. Harry plopped onto the bench, and his two friends sat on the other side of him.

"Did those Weasleys just…" Harry trailed off, still stunned by what he'd just witnessed.

"Bully a bully? Oh, yes. Serves him right," Sally-Anne said brightly.

Harry poked at the eggs, which had just appeared on the plate in front of him. "Do you have any idea what they gave him?"

"They call it Ton-Tongue Toffee," she answered, "They tend to save it for rather rude or sharp-tongued individuals."

"I've never heard of that type of sweet," Harry said. "Is Zonko's making a confection line?" At the amused looks upon their countenances, he tried again, "Honeyduke's is branching off with their Special Effects sweets?"

Sally-Anne and Theodore exchanged a glance past Harry. Then Sally-Anne began to dig something out of her schoolbag.

"I'm right then? Those Weasleys have been bringing experimental sweets into Hogwarts to sell them to the students and report back to the Honeydukes…?"

"Oh, not at all. That arm of their smuggling business is providing them with investment money for their grand plan which is entirely their idea," Sally-Anne said, handing a piece of paper over to Harry. " _This_."

Harry looked down at the list of curiously named items—every single one of them piqued his interest. Next to each item was an affixed price. Flipping it over, he realized it was a hand-made ordering form, but it had no name of business on it. "Which is what exactly?"

"Remember how Dennis spoke about smuggling things for the twins?" Theodore asked lightly. "He didn't mean smuggling things into Hogwarts; he meant smuggling experimental sweets into our House."

"He runs orders to the Weasley twins and delivers them," Sally-Anne said. "They want to make a business selling joke stuff, mainly trick sweets, tentatively named Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," she said, "I think it's brilliant and is going to make Zally Zarinka Zonko stark-raving mad with envy for not having thought of it first."

Handing the ordering form back to Sally-Anne, Harry took a bite of his food.

"Well, what do you  _think_?" Sally-Anne asked, putting the order form away.

"Give me three weeks and then I'll be able to tell you," Harry responded grimly, tucking in as much food as he could.

Theodore nodded. "You're worried about the First Task in nineteen days, aren't you?"

"Yes." Suddenly, Harry heard a distant tinkle of silver bells. He looked down the table, towards the double doors with a frown. "…I suspect the decision of which strategy to use is being left to me."

"And you'd be right," Draco said behind him. "You're the champion, you know. I can't very well whisper tactics in your ear while you fight."

Chomping on his toast, Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

Draco snorted. "There  _are_  powerful enchantments that will prevent the spectators from doing that very thing. Besides, I have full confidence in your survival instinct. You'll know which strategy's the best once you've been given the full Task and seen the environment you're to cross."

More urgently the silver bells tinkled again as if carried upon the wind. Harry had just finished a plate of eggs and toast, so he stood up.

"You're done?" Theodore also rose from his seat, while Sally-Anne shot them a curious look.

"Sit down, Theo. I'm just going to the courtyard for a bit of fresh air. I'll be back."

"You can't wander around in your condition. It's not safe," Sally-Anne said.

"I only need some fresh air." And he was curious about the bells.

Draco stood, following after him. "Crabbe, Goyle."

The two hulking teens set their utensils down to flank them. With an annoyed look towards the trio, Harry walked out of the Great Hall. Going partway down the corridor leading to the library, they took a turn and stepped past a swinging pendulum to the great clock face sitting far above them. There was again a subtle feeling missing, a distinct hum in this large space. Harry wondered whether  _this_  was the heart of Hogwarts, the steady swinging of the pendulum. He usually didn't want to hang about, but now he was curious at the mechanisms as he looked up into the darkness where the long stem of the pendulum came from a long, narrow slit in the ceiling.

"It's curious, but every Secret Sensor I've ordered has either disappeared or been broken," Draco said respectfully as Harry watched the pendulum fly past. "There's a Polyjuiced individual, who has an ample quantity of high-quality Foe Glass that can penetrate even the best cast privacy spells…"

The courtyard was rather crowded as Harry looked around. Again there came another shake of sweet silver bells. He wondered what on earth that was when he was distracted by Luna Lovegood. She was perched on a low wall set apart from the other students while she read a new edition of  _The Quibbler_. Her wand, as usual, was tucked behind her ear. "Stay here, Malfoy. I need to talk to Lovegood."

" _Loony Luna_?" Draco placed a hand on his hip imperially. "What could she possibly say that is more important than what I've gathered about the Dark Lord's mole?"

"That's none of your business; though I will say this much, the best offense is a good defense." Harry went, and they didn't follow him far, though they lingered and continually glanced in his direction. "Er, hello. Thanks for the newspaper yesterday."

"You're very welcome, Harry," Luna said airily. "Truffle?" She offered Harry the box so he could take one of the varieties of chocolates. "You're quite invisible today, did you know?"

"Thanks, and yes, I did. I had to take a potion," Harry said, taking one, and then hopped onto the stone wall next to her. He popped it into his mouth and chewed. "I need to ask a favor of you, if that's alright…?"

"Of course," She breathed out happily. "Finally tired of the Nargles and Wrackspurts?"

"Er… what? I have them?"

"Oh yes, they're particularly bad. They like nesting with people that have a lot of clutter. Easier for them to make a mess…"

"I… well, I need someone to help me with Occlumency fundamentals, and I was pointed to you. I think meditating's involved—"

"Is that what you really want?" Harry nodded when she paused. "It will help then and a lot of other things too," the Ravenclaw said. "What did you want to know?"

"I can't do it, clear my mind. I mean, I've tried sitting in a quiet place and tried not to think on anything. I know I have to passively observe my thoughts, but I'm not sure what that means."

"It's easy actually. The most difficult part is believing it will work because you don't  _seem_  like you're doing anything." Lovegood turned to face him, excitement flooding into her dreamy grin. "You see, most people think they know who they are, when they don't really. They think who they are is their memories, and mostly they think they are their thoughts. Thoughts are just like Nargles. They swim in through your ears and make everything fuzzy. Thoughts change, and so do emotions. Even memories can change.  _You_  cannot. You are immutable." She turned back to her truffles and, smiling, stuck one powdered with cocoa into her mouth and clearly savored it. "Another?"

Harry blinked and waved her offer away. He supposed her explanation made a roundabout sort of sense… "Well, who are you if you aren't your memories?"

She giggled through the mouthful. He waited patiently for her to answer. "You are  _you_. The you that is looking at me is you. The confusion that you feel, isn't you. It's just what you believe you're supposed to feel. And it can change. You could be angry at me, or sad, or peaceful."

"Don't think I've ever been the last one before," Harry said. "Is it really that easy?"

"Mhmm!" Luna nodded. "So few realize it. I mean, why be angry or upset or anxious when you don't  _have_  to be? Why listen to the random babbling that passes between your ears and believe it for truth when it so often isn't? I could think that Professor Flitwick is a candle, but that's not true. Why should I put stock on any other thought?"

For a moment, Harry had to gather his bearings. "Because people have trouble understanding you when they can't follow them, your thoughts, I mean."

"But no one understands you anyway!" Luna exclaimed throwing her chocolate-marked fingertips up. "Not truly. No one can. It's impossible. Just as it's impossible to say that you are anything other than  _you_. Get rid of everything else that you think is you. Once you are only  _you_  and nothing else." She interrupted herself with giggles. "You'll want more socks."

Harry looked at her feeling very odd. He didn't like the feeling of a rug pulled out from under his feet. "How can you say it's impossible to be understood? Seems defeatist if you ask me."

"Hm… Well, if you meet the best one, the one who  _sees_ you… your magical cores resonate, and then you know the person because you are them, but different from the you as yourself. I've read all about it. It's very rare to meet someone like that. I'd like to someday. Much better than being misunderstood, don't you think?"

The odd feeling morphed as she babbled, and Harry knew its hold well: Loneliness. The thought bothered him that even long friendship could not guarantee understanding and acceptance. "Is this anything like sensing with your heart? Because I'm bollocks at that too." He wondered if he was just wasting his time, if this conversation was all pointless.

Tilting over her right hand, Luna shook her head and licked the faint traces of chocolate from her fingers. Plucking the wand from her ear, she cast a Cleaning Charm on her left hand and then picked up her books. "Are you finished with the truffles? Good." She stood up and slid the wand behind her ear again, leaving the box where it was, and started to hum as she skipped away. When Harry had caught up with her, she continued. "Sensing with your heart isn't something that you _do_ ; it happens naturally. Most people can't explain it because there's no way to describe it. Even harder to identify what you can't describe. Ever tried to explain to someone who can't see what the color blue looks like?"

"Ah," Harry said, thinking he better derail her before she tried to tell him how that endeavor went. "How did you know that I liked socks?"

"Oh. You do?" She smiled. "That's good." As they walked, her eyes roamed the ceiling, as if completely fascinated by the stonework.

"But you said…" Harry sighed as the silver bells jangled again, reminding him he had other things to investigate. "Look. How am I supposed to do that? Separate myself from my memories?"

Lovegood twirled once, arms open and inviting. "Don't overthink it. You aren't your memories. Just watch them as they go through your mind. See what happens, what thoughts happen. What feelings happen. The you that observes these things is  _you_. Not what transpires through your mind at any moment."

"Alright…" Mrs. Longbottom had never explained it quite like that. She hadn't the patience to. "Thanks, Luna—er, I  _can_  call you that…?"

"Of course!" She smiled breezily. "Oh, and Harry, keep asking questions." She twirled again, her dress flaring out once, and drifted away like a leaf on the wind. Harry was left standing outside the double doors to the Great Hall. He smiled. Talking with her was odd, and at times a little frustrating but he thought he understood a little of what she was saying. And he did that without feeling annoyed; he figured that that counted as  _something_.

Once again the lovely bells called distantly, as if they were coming from the dungeons. "What  _is_  that?" Harry murmured.

"Hm?" Draco said as he stepped next to him.

"The tinkling bells," Harry said without thinking.

If Harry hadn't taken a step back, Draco would have walked right into him. "When did  _you_  swear a blood fealty?"

 _Oh_ , Harry thought dumbly as he stepped into the Great Hall,  _Of course hearing things would mean something significant_. One of these days Harry would learn to keep his mouth shut pertaining to strange sounds. "I didn't," he lied.

"You've been laid up because of it, haven't you? Who is it?" Jealousy was heavy in the demanding torrent of questions. It aggravated Harry to no end. "I've always wanted a bloodsworn servant, but I can't since I'm not yet Head of my bloodline."

"It's no one important," Harry said. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how he could wiggle out of this one. He made his way quickly down the Slytherin long table. The place between Theodore and Sally-Anne had closed and they seemed to be locked in a heated conversation. Their noses were nearly touching. Harry sat across from them.

"It's Theo, isn't it?"

 _Thank you, Draco_ , Harry thought. "No, it's  _not_ ," he said vehemently, making his eyes hedgy.

Just then, at the perfect moment, Theodore looked up, and Harry deliberately caught his eye. Harry shared a secret smile, while Theodore returned a somewhat quizzical grin and went back to talking to Sally-Anne, this time with a bit more space between them.

Draco crowed with glee. "I knew it!  _I knew it!_ "

"Know what?" Pansy said behind them.

"It's not a bit of your business, Pansy!" Draco said delightedly, "Though, you'd hate not knowing!"

She narrowed her eyes. "Draco Malfoy, I will tell everyone here your middle name if you don't tell me right this instant."

"You wouldn't," he said, narrowing his eyes as well.

Harry plowed into a second helping of food. He hadn't been this ravenous since his first year.

"I gave you fair warning," she said after their standoff had lasted long enough. "His name is Draco Tiberius Malfoy."

" _Tiberius_?" Harry said with a choked chortle. "It's  _really_ Tiberius?"

"Before you get carried away with your Muggle lore, I'll have you know that that's the name of a great Roman emperor. He's an ancestor of mine of the magical persuasion." Draco speared a slice of tomato and bit off the end of it.

Harry cleared his throat and began to hum a little ditty from an old American telly programme he'd seen re-runs of late at night at the Dursleys.

Theodore and Sally-Anne's—erm, non-verbal  _conversation_  instantly stopped. Their lips broke apart as a wave of laughter overtook them. Harry pretended not to notice as he continued to hum. Poor Pansy looked rather bewildered and more than a little disappointed that Draco seemed to be pleased by the disclosure of his full name rather than annoyed.

"You've told him!" Theodore said still giggling.

"I did no such thing; it was Pansy's doing," Draco said haughtily.

Harry continued humming, making note of the Slytherins who grinned when they overheard him. Possible Muggle-borns?

"What  _is_  that he's humming? It's rather nice, if strange…" Tracey ventured.

"Sounds a bit like Mermish didn't it?" Daphne said. She locked eyes with Harry and then blinked with confusion. "He has an image of a giant vessel run by Muggles… flying through…  _outerspace_?"

"To explore where no man has gone before," Sally-Anne intoned, "This is the story of Captain Draco T. Malfoy and his crew of the Starship Enterprise."

That sent Theodore and Harry—not to mention a few of their housemates—into helpless laughter. It was too ridiculous.

"It's a Muggle thing," Draco said evenly to Pansy, whose eyes had bulged a little in reaction.  _Rather like Luna's_ , Harry thought.

"You're in Muggle Studies class, and you've never heard of Star Trek?" Harry asked the quartet of witches; they shook their heads at him. Quite a few Ravenclaws stopped, looking mildly curious.

"I've heard of it," Lisa Turpin said. "Wasn't my kind of show." On either side of her Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst didn't look as if they had the foggiest idea what she was talking about. "You should know that Professor Burbage won't cover culturally important telly programmes until next year," Turpin said informatively.

"Well," Padma said shyly. "I heard Michael Corner was excited to learn that there were questions on the Muggle Studies O.W.L. pertaining to Star Wars…? He's absolutely nutters over it." She gave an exaggerated huff when she saw that Turpin and Brocklehurst had continued without her and caught up with her two friends out the Great Hall. "Oi! Slow down!"

Deciding that it might be better not to bring attention to the fact that his year-mates seemed to be on better terms, Harry began to hum again while he dug into his third plate. Although, he'd have to corner Wynch and tell him to stop ringing that confounded bell!

* * *

It is a strange thing, but when one is dreading something and would give anything to slow down time, it has the disobliging habit of speeding up. After that unusual day without magic, once Harry had regained it he'd become hyper-aware of _everything_. The tapestries, the paintings, suits of armor, every time someone swished their wand near Harry without calling forth magic. He was surrounded by—no, the very air he breathed was inundated with threads of magic. Even the grounds and the lake had it. There wasn't a moment where he didn't feel it, yet as the days went by the hyper-awareness dulled to more tolerable levels where he wasn't tasting magic in the food during meals and chafing against it in his magic-tailored robes.

So far, Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts was turning into a whirlwind of studious learning. Several classes had a rhythm to them; History of Magic was still boring as ever, and Harry kept nodding off during Astronomy. Charms and Herbology were a breeze. Arithmancy was growing more tedious as the calculus fundamentals moved into nonlinear functions, but at the very least they were diving more deeply into the magical properties of numbers and functions. Quite fascinating stuff if one liked patterns and problem-solving. In Study of Ancient Runes, the other students had caught on that Harry was being specifically targeted for Runic Traps when he failed to break himself out again and again. It was becoming something of an exercise for the others to build the counter-Rune before Professor Babbling entered the classroom.

During every Care of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid invited Harry to his cabin for a spot of tea, but Harry politely declined, as he was falling behind on the Distance Learning packets from the Salem Institute. More arrived every week, bringing back unpleasant memories of the dreaded scrolls from Snape. The Blast-Ended Skrewts had gotten even larger and more menacing than they had before. Harry wondered if the creatures, numbering in twenty, would continue killing each other until none were left.

In Transfigurations, they had finally moved from Conjuring to Switching spells, something Harry performed with marked ease. Harry's antidote had gotten an O, and the companion essay had gotten a snide comment in red ink reminding Harry to keep his hair from falling into the wrong hands.

The twins had yet to prank Ms. Oke beyond spelling her hair to stick up like spires—patently weaker than the flamboyant displays they were known for. Meanwhile, the principal had become his semi-permanent DADA tutor. Harry learned that the chiming of her rings was more 'flash and dazzle' than anything of practical use. There were permanent runes carved into the rings, but they were activated by a different method. Her wand was strapped to her forearm in a dueling harness, if she needed to do more complicated spellwork than what she could do nonverbally and wandlessly. Harry agreed to her strange lessons so long as she spent some of them giving tips on how to perform nonverbal magic.

"Like your friend said, Arithmancy is one way. Tricky if you're not a mathematical genius. One calculation off and either the spell will fail—the better outcome—or backfire unexpectedly. I always preferred straight-up will power and focus. Intertwining magic through arcane knowledge of the spell and imagination is the more flexible of these two methods." She set her hands on her hips. "You'd probably start with the former since I heard you didn't inherit your dad's brilliance at Transfigurations. Have a solid base in that and you'd make a brilliant wizard."

"I'm decent enough," Harry muttered, and the lesson on Arithmancy-based nonverbal spellwork began.

At least the rude comments about the  _Daily Prophet_ article had mostly stopped and the badges were no longer being worn by anybody. The Ravenclaws had been assailed by a frantic Finnigan and numerous Slytherin acquaintances, until the most logical course of action was to no longer wear the badges…

Just as Hermione's letters stopped coming as frequently, Ginny had gotten into the lovely habit of sending Harry letters every other day. They were much shorter since she didn't get carried away with explanations and ramblings, but they didn't have quite the personality that Hermione's always had. Harry chalked it up to shyness.

When Ginny's letters first started coming, he had received one from Fred and George Weasley too. Harry had been stunned when he read their support for courting their sister so long as Harry dropped his other three girlfriends. Apparently, now that it was common knowledge that Draco had been reprimanded for using Polyjuice Potion, the rumors had reversed in the opposite direction. Harry was supposedly dating Delacour, Lovegood, and Sally-Anne  _concurrently_. Exactly when he had time to court witches on top of everything else was another matter altogether; he suspected that he would have needed a Time-Turner to pull it off.

Harry had written back to Ginny's brothers about how people would be better off expending their energy on actual knowledge rather than baseless rumors. Delacour seemed to be romantically engaged with Diggory, and Sally-Anne was sort-of spoken for by Theodore Nott. And Luna? Just because he happened to find a few hours or so out of the week to meditate and such for mental training, didn't mean that they were anything more than friends. Instead of obsessing over  _who_  Harry was dating, they really ought to discover whether he was open to dating first.

And then the week of the First Task began. Harry saw the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons Champions, and they both looked… reserved compared to last week. Perhaps they had finally learned about the dragons? It was the only reason Harry could figure why they would be looking so wan.

Harry was glad that he'd had much longer to prepare. His chances of winning were that much greater. He was actually delighting in the other champions' disadvantage. That was, until Harry saw Cedric Diggory leave the Hufflepuff table Wednesday after lunch, looking strikingly calm despite the First Task being  _tomorrow_.

Having one of those foreboding feelings, Harry led Theodore and Sally-Anne to the grassy center deep within the heart of Hogwarts, where Diggory and his fans often loitered. His way was blocked by a couple of glaring Hufflepuffs. "Excuse me," Harry said politely. "I have something to tell Diggory. It's important."

They moved aside for Harry, but stopped Sally-Anne and Theodore from passing. Harry traversed the short distance to the other Hogwarts champion, whose head was currently resting on another male student's lap.

"I need to speak to you," Harry said seriously.

Startled, Diggory sat up looking rather flustered and red-faced as one of his housemates jeered rudely at Harry, "Look, it's the Hogwarts champion!"

"And Skeeter reported my age as two years younger, you twit!" Harry snapped at the older Hufflepuff wizard. "She obviously lives in a fantasy world where it's alright to convey outright lies in a national newspaper." Harry took a deep breath, letting his anger settle in the quiet that fell. "Diggory, may I have a word or not?" He said more formally.

Diggory nodded, standing. "Yes. This way."

"You stink, Potty!" One of his fans yelled.

Harry ignored her. Diggory said over his shoulder, "Shut it, Monica."

"Come on, Ced! He's a smelly cheat! You can't trust whatever he has to say," the busty witch continued.

"If she doesn't stop, she's going to get hexed  _and_ I won't tell you what the First Task is," Harry said with a steady tone, stopping in the shade of a tall oak tree.

Diggory looked very concerned. He turned to look over his shoulder. "Monica! There's nothing for you to get jealous over. He's not even interested in blokes."

Still, Harry could feel her glaring murderously at him. It was an odd feeling. What had happened with Diggory and Delacour? Harry must have been mistaken by how chummy they'd gotten. He supposed he ought to be more lenient when people thought the same about him and other witches.

"You were saying?" Diggory said with a much more polite tone, when Harry didn't speak up.

"Dragons. They've got one for each of us."

The sixth year looked like he didn't want to believe Harry, but a frown pushed his thick brows together and a flicker of panic appeared in his eyes. "You… Are you serious?"

Harry nodded, glad that Diggory's adoring fans remained silent. "There's four kinds," he said and then told him which four they were.

"And… Fleur and Krum, do they—?"

"I assume so; they've been looking rather sick since Monday."

"You've known longer, haven't you?" Diggory said, rather astutely.

"Yes, and I couldn't very well let you be the only one to go into the task without any idea of what you were about to encounter. Didn't seem sporting when I already know what I'm going to do," Harry said.

"How did you find out?"

Harry lifted an eyebrow at him. "Do you  _really_  have to ask?"

"Of course.  _Malfoy._ His father must have heard something in the Ministry." Diggory frowned. "Thank you. You didn't have to tell me."

"No, I didn't." Without a farewell to the stunned Hufflepuff, Harry headed to the other side of the tree where he saw Theodore and Sally-Anne waiting. Unfortunately, Finnigan and Ron Weasley stepped out of the corridor, though Harry wasn't much worried about the latter wizard.

"What's the matter, Potty?" Finnigan said. "Miss your daily dose o' Harry Huntin'?"

"Are you—are you  _barmy_?" Ron said to his friend, eyes goggling. "You're going to bully him after Fred and George cornered you?" Ron had that look which people often got when their worldviews didn't match up to reality.

"Not goin' to tattle on me, are ye?" Finnigan said meanly.

Ron shut his mouth and puffed his cheeks out, giving the appearance of an angry toddler. He rubbed his face. "Seamus, they've got eyes everywhere."

"Don't care."

"We can't be mates then," Ron said, his eyes growing serious.

"If yer scared of  _them_ then it's best we aren't." Finnigan turned his back on Ron, missing the hurt look flash across the Gryffindor's face. "Me mum and I have a bet," he continued, while a muttering Ron had walked straight back into the corridor in disgust. "I've put me money on, bettin' that you'll fail in the first ten minutes on your First Task. Me mum thinks you'll win it the quickest. She's out o' her mind, if ye ask me."

Harry sighed dramatically, raising his hands in the air. "Yes, I should give up now to save myself the humiliation…"

"Can't back out of—"

"Even if I could back out, I wouldn't. I'd hate to miss the look on your face when I prove your mum right."

"Bloody bold words for a snake!"

Harry snorted. "Is that the best you have? There's not a lick of originality in that small brain of yours. Pity, must be why you copy your oafish techniques from a Muggle who was so dim-witted that a tutor was brought in to teach him how to tie his own shoes." He turned to rejoin his friends. When Finnigan roared some obscenities, Harry felt magic flare behind him and so spun on a foot, whipping out his wand.

"Oh, no, you don't, sonny!" Professor Moody's voice bellowed. There was a blur of shape and color where Finnigan once stood and a reddish-brown ferret squeaked and quaked where it now sat.

A loud hiss of warning cut across whatever Harry was about to say. Harry immediately holstered his wand when he saw who it was. He stared in disbelief at the huge size of the Lionsnake, the same that had once curled around his arm. She had risen to eyelevel with Professor Moody, who had paused in his next movement when he saw her, and she swayed like a King cobra.

" _You will be dead when you harm this child of Hogwarts!"_ came Lucy's deep, melodic voice.

Terrified, the Finnigan-ferret let out a high shriek and sprinted to the corridor, which was bursting with curious Hufflepuffs, peering through the archways. One of them grabbed him before he could get much farther. At a safe distance by the largest tree in the courtyard, Diggory's group was staring and whispering excitedly.

" _Lucy?!_   _Where've you been?_ " Harry approached the very large snake, but she flared her quills out in warning.

" _Stay back, Boy-Who-Survived-Great-Terror-And-Anguish!"_  And then Lucy spat angrily at Professor Moody again, when the ex-Auror didn't immediately lower his wand.  _"You dare try my patience?"_

"Professor Moody, I would lower your wand if I were you," Harry said urgently. He saw that the man's Magical eye was whirling wildly in its socket, likely seeing others that were invisible to Harry. There were many depressions in the grass around them, agitated hissing filling the air the longer it took for him to comply.

"Professor Moody!" came a stern old witch's voice. Harry was relieved to hear the voice of the Head of Gryffindor House. "Lower your wand!"

With a snort, he holstered his wand, and Lucy clacked her quills together threateningly.  _"First and last warning, Insane One_."

"She says that's your only warning," Harry said, and they watched as the massive Lionsnake bowed towards Harry respectfully before disappearing in a faint shimmer of light.

With a grim look, Professor Moody's normal eye fixed on the face of the Transfigurations professor as if he knew what to expect, while the other stilled only enough to track the impressive snake.

"Alastor, Dumbledore warned you about the Lionsnakes," Professor McGonagall said with a raised voice.

"He might've mentioned them," he said gruffly, leaning heavily on his staff.

"Well, you will do well to remember that. If you threaten a student again, you may be sent to the infirmary," Professor McGonagall said. At his nod of understanding, the professor raised her hands at the gathered students. "Away!"

They fled before her.

Harry decided it was time to go to the dungeons. He kept his hand by his wand until he was nearly at the portrait-hole and neither of his friends beside him said a word about it.

If the Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the Imperius Curse hadn't done it, it was Lucy's appearance that had. Harry absolutely did not trust Professor Moody. Unfortunately, any plan to reveal whether he was Polyjuiced would have to wait until after the First Task. Harry would need to rest tonight.

Next morning, Harry did a set of stretches after a light warm-up to settle his nerves. If he hadn't had the re-adjusted Torpor Rune, he wouldn't have slept a wink. The atmosphere of the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop midday, giving the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure in the arena—though of course, many of them didn't yet know what they would find there. Harry had told Ginny and Neville about them; they at least would have told their closest friends.

Harry felt oddly separate from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or whispering 'Broiled's not a good look for you, Potty' as he passed. He vaguely wondered if he might be scared. That seemed like the reasonable conclusion for the strange way time was passing. One moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, Study of Ancient Runes, and the next walking into the Great Hall. Harry managed to eat a plate of lunch. It wouldn't do to pass out during the task. Even though his friends and other housemates were talking about inconsequential things, the mood was stale. They knew what he would be walking into shortly, knew that there was a chance he wouldn't come back alive. Yet, Harry had done everything he could to prepare.

Seeing the greasy-haired bat glide across the Great Hall, Harry wondered where the last of his dragon-free hours had gone. "Potter, the champions are to head to the grounds now… To prepare for the First Task."

"Alright," Harry said, standing, and dropped his fork onto his unfinished plate of food with a jarring clatter. Conversation came to a standstill as their eyes turned to him.

"Good hunting, Harry," Theodore said. Sally-Anne and several others wished him luck. Draco rambled a few reminders in a great gust of air. Daphne was smiling at Harry in that intensely incisive manner that was seriously unnerving. He'd tried to avoid talking to her alone ever since she learned of the soul-shard's existence.

A little laugh erupted from Harry's throat.

"You'll be fine," Sally-Anne said confidently. None of them reached out to give him a reassuring pat. They knew he wouldn't have liked that.

"Yeah," Harry said in a voice that was most unlike the terrified one in his head.

He left the Great Hall. The Potions Master didn't say anything at all until they were outside Hogwarts Castle, walking down the stone steps. "As long as you  _don't_  panic and keep your wits about you, you should be well-prepared for this task," came the even, bored tone as if there was no dragon at all to worry about, just some silly chess tournament that had no chance of becoming a matter of life or death.

"Yes, of course," Harry heard himself say with more assertiveness than he thought himself capable. How the bloody hell was the adult being so calm about it? Harry thought he'd have been a bit mental, making digs at him on their long walk.

In complete silence, he was led into the Forbidden Forest, and then time did that funny thing again and skipped forward. Harry blankly looked around them when they stopped. They were standing near a wooden arena firmly nestled in the side of a cleared hill. There was a sizable tent; its entrance faced them, revealing heavily patterned rugs inside.

"Go inside and wait your turn, Potter," Professor Snape said calmly. "Professor Flitwick will tell you the procedure once all the champions arrive."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said in a voice that had gone flat and distant. The First Task was less than a couple hours away. The professor left without another word, and Harry entered the tent.

Dressed in what looked to be a powder blue fencing suit, Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She looked even worse than she had on Monday; her face was pale and clammy and she didn't notice that Harry had stepped in. Changing into a different set of robes, Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harry supposed was his way of showing nerves. All while Cedric Diggory, wearing black robes with yellow sleeves and trim, was pacing up and down the length the tent; only he sent Harry a small smile, which Harry returned, feeling the muscles in his face working rather hard.

"Your champion robes are in the room they set for you." Diggory nodded to the hanging outfit. It had green long-sleeves with silver trim at the shoulders and wrists. Otherwise it had a similar appearance to the Salem Institute's uniform except made of a loose fabric.

"Thank you," Harry said with the same blank face and tone. When he passed the hanging, it shut behind him so he could have some privacy. The outfit was much more comfortable than it looked, stretching to fit him and causing no loss of mobility as his Salem Institute robes had, though it had a bit of a tendency to ride up in the groin. Once he'd changed and pulled at the outfit so that it'd settle more comfortably, the curtains slid back and he strapped his holster on. Without his Spellfast Cloak, Harry felt vulnerable. Accessories beyond a wand were not allowed.

"Not bad, Potter," Diggory commented, smiling at him. Harry's cheek twitched before it completely gave up its effort of friendliness.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat, and Harry and the three other champions turned to see that he was standing atop a little staircase—to better speak to them without getting a crick in his neck. "Hello, champions! Once the stands have filled, Mr. Crouch will arrive with a sack of models. You shall take one and that shall be the creature you face in your task to collect the golden egg."

Harry noticed that only Diggory had nodded with a determined look on his face. Neither of the other two champions reacted. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths. Harry continued feeling disconnected; it was ironic that he seemed the calmest of the lot considering that he hadn't volunteered for this, not like the others had under their own willpower.

Time rushed forward in great dollops and soon Harry heard hundreds of footsteps thudding by, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking… He felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. Faintly he could hear the raucous cries of the Weasley twins taking up wagers, and then Dumbledore's voice began to proclaim something about it being a great day. Harry had to admit that the weather being clear and sunny certainly helped with the task ahead.

"Psst!"

Harry spun around to see who had made that noise. He stared at the tent wall. "What?"

"Harry, is that you?" Hermione's voice wavered towards him.

"Yeah," he whispered, his mind clearing. He couldn't help the smile on his face. It felt like ages since their Study of Ancient Runes class that morning.

"How are you feeling? Okay?" The distant feeling began anew, and Harry wasn't sure how to answer. "I heard from Sally-Anne that you've trained for nearly a month. The key is to  _concentrate_. After that—"

"I just need to battle a dragon," Harry said trying to be reassuring but his tone was all wrong.

Hermione made a noise and pushed the tent walls away. She threw her arms around him tightly, pressing every bit of her softness against him. Harry grabbed her in surprise so he didn't fall over, and then a bright light flashed along with a puff of thick smoke.

The Gryffindor pulled away, and Harry saw it was the photographer and Rita Skeeter, who had her mouth open in shocked pleasure. " _Young love_ , _"_ She enunciated stepping inside in a tight brown leather dress that Harry recognized as being made of dragon-hide.  _Here we go_ , Harry thought distantly. He thought about Quidditch because that was quite the lovely sport.

Skeeter let out a gasp of adulation while her notepad and a quill with an exceptionally long black-spotted green feather shivered and floated after her. "How…  _stirring_." She glanced over and the quill very quickly wrote down lines of information.

"I would appreciate it if you left," Harry said most politely. Now that he thought about it, the gossip columnist had the appearance of a candle, thin and pale with eyes like low-burning fire.

"Hmm… if everything goes unfortunately today, you two may even make the front page!" She adjusted her glasses looking quite pleased at that.

"Hyu hav no business here!" Krum's voice announced loudly from his corner of the tent, and Skeeter's face grew cold and ugly. "This tent is ffor champions… und friends," Krum quickly added the last part when he glanced at Hermione.

Skeeter's blond curly hair bobbed in understanding, and she shifted, holding up her hand for the quill to hop in it like a faithful pet. "No matter. We've got what we wanted." The green feather flicked Krum in the face, which only caused his already incensed expression to grow darker. Another flash of the camera caught the other three champions looking rather irate at Skeeter's departing back.

"Er, this is Hermione Granger," Harry said, introducing her to the three curious Champions.

"How do you do?" She said breathlessly, looking at Krum with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth.

"Oh, I know you!" Diggory said, "I heard from Ernie that you're the brainiest witch in Harry's year."

Hermione's face turned an interesting shade of pink as Delacour turned her sharp eyes on her. "Ernest exaggerates. I'm really not—"

Beyond the Gryffindor, Professor Dumbledore announced, "Good day, champions! Gather round, please." In streamed Madam Maxime, Igor Karkaroff, Ms. Oke, and Mr. Crouch. "Now, you've waited, you've wondered and at last the moment has arrived." As Dumbledore spoke, he wrapped an arm around Hermione who was looking quite worried. "A moment only four of you can fully appreciate." He glanced at her and drew back as if he'd just seen her. "What're you doing here, Miss Granger?"

Hermione let out a breath. "Oh, um, sorry, I'll just go." She glanced once more at Harry, and he nodded at her reassuringly. Then she slipped through the tent flaps.

"Barty, the bag, please," Professor Dumbledore said.

"Champions, in a circle around me." When they didn't move fast enough, Mr. Crouch moved them into a circle. One by one he offered the champions the smoking bag, starting with Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside and drew out a tiny, animated dragon—a Swedish Shortsnout, Harry noted as Mr. Crouch announced it. She had a look of determined resignation on her face.

The same held true for Krum, suggesting to Harry that he had been right to tell Diggory about the dragons. The Durmstrang Champion pulled out a scarlet Chinese Fireball, the trickiest one of the bunch because they were so intelligent.

 _If only I could get the Welsh Green…_  he thought as Mr. Crouch went to Diggory, who put his hand into the bag. He opened his hand to reveal the only dragon native to Britain, the exact one Harry had wanted because they were so easy to trick.

"Which leaves…" Mr. Crouch trailed.

"The Horntail," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What's that, boy?" The wizard said sharply.

"Nothing." He reached in, wincing when the 'model' bit his thumb, and withdrew a fierce-looking dragon, which bared its miniscule fangs at him threateningly. It would have looked a bit cute in miniature, barring all the spines.

"The Hungarian Horntail," Mr. Crouch said solemnly. For a brief instant, Harry wondered if Crouch had rigged it so that he'd had the worst one. Harry looked up at Dumbledore who looked at him with a serious expression as if he might've thought the same thing. "These represent four very real dragons. Your objective is simple: Collect the egg. This you must do, for each egg contains a clue without which you cannot hope to proceed to the next task." Mr. Crouch looked among the champions. "Any questions?"

Everyone stared at him, still as death.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Very well, good luck, champions. Mr. Diggory, at the sound of the cannon, you may—"

A cannon went off above them, causing the support to kickback. Professor Karkaroff and Viktor Krum dropped to the ground, likely thinking they were under attack. Harry looked up to see Argus Filch, grinning nastily down at all of them. Outside the tent, the crowd erupted with very loud cheers.

Professor Dumbledore pointed towards the gaping hole in the front of the tent where Skeeter had appeared earlier. Harry tried to wish Diggory luck as the ill-looking Hufflepuff went past but all that came out of his mouth was a sort of hoarse grunt. The model of the Hungarian Horntail made its presence known in his hand when it bit his thumb again and thumped its tail around. Drawing his wand, Harry cast a Freezing Charm on it and shoved it into the pockets of the robes he'd taken off earlier.

Then having nothing left to do, he waited for his turn. It was worse than Harry could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening as the crowd chanted Diggory's name… gasped… screamed, as Diggory did what he could to complete the task set before him. A familiar man's voice, the same that had been at the World Quidditch Cup, was announcing everything, making everything much, much worse inside Harry's mind…

And then—it seemed about a second later to Harry—that there was the unmistakable roar of the crowd. Outside Professor Dumbledore was announcing the next champion to attempt the task.

Delacour stepped up to the entrance. She was trembling head to foot.

"You'll do fine," Harry said encouragingly, "A Swedish Shortsnout has the biggest blindspot of the bunch."

Instead of glaring at him, Delacour gave him a hopeful smile, pulled her shoulders back, and held her head high. "Zanks, 'Arry," she said coolly. Her curved wand was tightly clutched into her hand. When the cannon went off, she proudly set off to face her dragon. He and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent. Krum steadfastly refused to meet Harry's gaze.

The same process started again, replete with details of the dragon fight. Harry was just beginning to settle into a fantastical daydream where he was playing Quidditch when the crowd roared with their approval, applauding.

The headmaster announced Krum next; he too gripped his wand as he stared towards the tent opening. At the sound of the BOOM, Krum slouched out, and Harry was left quite alone in the tent. He looked around, and realized there were crates of medical supplies, likely if one of them were to become seriously injured…

As he waited, Harry felt much more aware of his body than usual; aware of the way his heart was pumping fast, his fingers tingling with fear, his wand buzzing with anticipation in his palm… yet, at the same time, Harry seemed to be outside of himself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though he were far away…

"Three of our champions have now faced their dragons, and so each one of them will proceed to the next task."

Harry quickly stood and made his way to the front of the tent. The moment he'd seen the Hungarian Horntail he'd abandoned the thought of distracting it by conjuring fairy lights or bad smells since neither would work well… Hungarian Horntails were too territorial to be drawn away from whatever object they were meant to protect, which meant the two of the three strategies his housemates had helped devise were largely made ineffective. Any of them  _could_  work if he used them together, but the chances of unmaimed success were not more than half.

"And now our fourth and final contestant, Harry Potter," Professor Dumbledore announced. The crowd erupted with glee, and the cannon went off above him.

Harry quickly Disillusioned himself with a twirl of his wand above him. It wouldn't do anything for his scent, which he couldn't mask from the magical beast, but at least it wouldn't make it easier for it to aim fire at him. Harry only wanted to check out the lay of the arena before committing to the final strategy: summoning his broom…

" _Harry! Harry! Harry!_ " The crowd chanted as he invisibly trotted down the slope into the rocky enclosure.

He saw everything in front of him as though it was a highly vivid dream. There were hundreds of faces staring down at the entrance expectantly. And there was the Horntail, crouched low over a clutch of real dragon eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil yellow eyes gazing at the crowd above her.

Harry turned and walked right back to the tent when his chest compressed tightly. He breathed in harshly, nixing the broom idea. He was going to do the insane plan; The one that Theodore had thrown out because no sane individual would ever attempt it. It was a good thing that Harry could no longer claim to be mentally sound.

He canceled the Disillusionment charm that had kept him hidden and then took in a deep breath and exhaled softly. He took in another deep breath focusing. He'd performed this charm over and over again before one of the older Slytherins had calculated the maximum time of protection against an onslaught. Harry tapped his forehead, and then cast, " _Pyros Immobulus Maxima!_ "

When he sprinted out into the arena, the crowd went ballistic. Harry didn't pause at all as he headed straight for the Horntail without a second thought. Many of them screamed above him. Harry thought they'd have put a Silencing Ward up; Draco had insinuated such a thing. "What are you doing?!"

"HE'S MAD!"

"Harry, don't!"

The very spiky, horned tail of the dragon came down next to him like a club and then cut sideways.

" _Protego_!" The tail glanced against the shield and slammed into the opposite wall after destroying his Shield Charm. The Horntail made a loud roar of anger; it reared up, taking a great gulp of air, as Harry rushed straight towards the golden egg.

" _Carpe Retractum!"_ He shouted, pointing his wand at the egg; a long whip-like vine snapped out, gathering up the egg and flinging it back to him.

The whole crowd was screaming now, and the spectators had jumped to their feet in horror.

Just as his arms closed around the egg, two great jets of fire bore down upon him. Having only half a second to turn, Harry cradled the egg and his wand and ran away as fast as he could; his life depended on it. He felt the tickling of a million feathers gracing his skin. The dragon's flame could no longer reach him after three seconds once he had sprinted to a safer spot closer to the entrance of the arena. With a large grin upon his face, he saw smoke rise from the sleeves of his outfit as he held the golden egg up, while the crowd stared down at him momentarily silent, with shocked and stunned faces. Harry's heart was thudding heavily in his ears and throat, and he swallowed tasting soot and burnt hair.

The dragon-keepers rushed forward to subdue the Horntail which looked ready to break free of its chains to get the egg back. Professor Snape descended from the staircase nearest to Harry as the noise of the crowd suddenly roared in waves against his eardrums. "Potter, this way." When he trekked up the slope after the Potions Master, Harry's heart felt lighter than it had in weeks… he'd passed the First Task and survived. Hagrid was waving at him excitedly a little farther up the hill. They had passed the Champions' Tent now, so Harry bounded past the Potions Master, holding the Golden Egg over his head like he'd lost his wits.

He could hear people shrieking, "Yes!" over and over again and heavy sustained applause from the stands.

"Look at that!" The announcer boomed and echoed over the grounds. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!"

"Crikey, 'Arry!" Hagrid said loudly. Harry barreled into the adult and was engulfed in a massive hug. Hagrid lifted him turning with his excitement. "Yeh did it! An' agains' th' Horntail! That was amazin'!"

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said. There was a strange, far-off buzzing noise, like the sound of cicadas awakening from a long hibernation… Harry looked off towards the trees curiously as he was set down. He settled the egg against his hip.

The half-giant ran a rough hand over his tongue and then rubbed Harry's cheeks. Harry tried not to make a face at the smell of spit. "Got some soot on yeh. Nice an' easy does th' trick!"

It felt as if Hagrid had only smeared it. Harry would cast a charm later. He was quite thirsty.

Professor Snape said, "Hagrid, Poppy is ready to check him for injury."

Thankfully, the irritating buzz faded as soon as Harry walked into the medical tent. Madam Pomfrey was waiting inside, looking worried.

"Dragons!" she said with a disgusted tone, gesturing for him to step closer. The tent was divided into cubicles like the other one; he could make out Diggory's shadow in one of them. Madam Pomfrey immediately cast a set of diagnostic spells, all while talking, "Last year dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next?" She blinked at the floating words and symbols hanging around Harry. "…Uninjured, are you?" She said sounding miffed.

"Flame-Freezing Charm." Harry beamed at her.

"Good heavens!" The Healer exclaimed, "That would only hold against a dragon for—"

"Five seconds…  _Maybe_ ," Harry said with gleeful self-assurance, setting the golden egg aside. "As you can see, this outfit and my hair were a bit singed, and I've a bit of soot on my glasses—should be easy to clean up." He then cast several Cleaning charms, one specifically for Floo travel. "And good as new."

Madam Pomfrey made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat. "I'm lucky you arrived back at all! What were you  ** _thinking_**?" Her whole body was stormy with disappointment and fear for his safety.

"I was thinking of winning without hurting myself or the dragon… or its eggs," Harry said honestly, holstering his wand.

"Well, go on then. Out with you! They should be determining your score soon," she said angrily, bustling over to Diggory's cubicle. Picking up his egg again, Harry wandered through the opening of the tent and heard her ask nicely, "How does it feel now, Diggory?"

Professor Snape was waiting beside the tent, which apparently had a special ward to block out noise. Harry wondered why he would be hearing cicadas at the end of autumn, but decided it would be better not to mention them. Without a word spoken, Harry was led back to the arena.

Now that the Hungarian Horntail was taken away, Harry could see where five judges were sitting—right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.

The first judge, Madam Maxime, raised her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out the tip of it, which twisted itself into two parts, a one and a zero. Harry had gotten a ten. The crowd burst into an approving roar.

Mr. Crouch raised his wand next and he shot what looked like a rocket into the air. It burst into… a  _ten_! The crowd gave its support.

The Headmaster stood up and he too put a number ten into the air with golden ribbon, and the crowd went wild. Ms. Oke raised a long purple wand and sparks of light sprang forth forming into another  _ten_!

"This is out of ten, right?" Harry said, feeling stunned.

Professor Snape nodded ever so slightly.

And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment and then a number shot out of his wand— _zero_.

"He must really not like me," Harry commented with amusement, smile not fading from his lips as he cradled his golden egg. The crowd's indignation had already swelled angrily on Harry's behalf, filling the air with hisses and boos. Their reaction was worth more than a hundred points to him. After all, there hadn't been only Slytherins cheering in the crowd. When it had come to it, even though Harry was representing another school, Hogwarts students threw their support behind him as much as they had for Diggory. As he turned to leave the enclosure, Harry noticed that the cicadas or whatever they were had finally fallen silent, and he sighed in relief. He didn't need another strange occurrence to worry about with so much going on.

"To the champions' tent, Potter," Snape directed behind him.

Harry reentered the tent, which somehow looked and felt quite different now: friendly and welcoming. He thought back to how he'd felt dodging the Horntail and allowing it to breathe fire over him, and then compared it to the long wait before he'd walked out to face the dragon… there was no comparison; the wait had been immeasurably worse.

Turning, Harry saw the other three champions walk in, each carrying a golden egg. Krum had lost his eyebrows in the fight, but otherwise looked fine. Delacour had a wrapping around her left arm. A large amount of Diggory's hair was gone, and one side of Diggory's face, neck, and shoulder was covered in a thick orange paste, which was presumably covering a severe burn. Harry couldn't help the small thought in the back of his mind of whether the Hufflepuff would have survived at all had he gotten the Hungarian Horntail. Diggory grinned when he saw Harry, "Fleur told me how it went, and I told them what charm you used. Brilliant work. You're a madman, but most geniuses are."

"Thanks," Harry said, wary of offering the Hufflepuff a smile after he winked at Harry.

"Well done all of you!" Professor Flitwick said, bouncing into the tent. He climbed the steps onto his little platform and took a moment to look at them, looking very pleased with each and every one of them. "Now, you have a long break before the Second Task. It will take place at half past nine on the morning of February Twenty-Fourth. The clue you need to solve is within the egg, which will enable you to prepare for it. Any questions?" When no one said anything, the Charms Professor said brightly, "Off to dinner then!"

Harry left the tent. He was disappointed to see that none of his other friends had snuck down to greet him like Hermione had. Rejoining the-ever glowering Potions Master who hadn't said a word about Harry's amazing feat, they started to walk back through the Forbidden Forest. Harry soon suspected that any of his friends had been shooed away by his Head of House. Thankfully, the mysterious cicadas remained silent. Harry frowned, but was startled out of his suspicious thoughts when a full-grown witch jumped out from a clump of bushes. Harry saw that Snape had already drawn his wand.

It was Rita Skeeter,  _again_. "Congratulations, Harry!" she said, beaming at him. "I wonder if you could—"

Professor Snape brandished his wand beneath the reporter's nose. " _Piss off_."

She let out a little laugh and backed away, her quill scribbling furiously beside her. "Well, pardon me, Severus. I meant no disrespect, of course…"

Harry turned and set off back to the castle before the Potions Master had a chance to order him to. Now that he was away from the white noise of magic-users, he heard malevolent whispering as it tried to tell him how brilliant he was and how much he deserved the complete respect and profound deference of everyone around him. Harry ignored the soul-shard. As far as he was concerned, Voldemort's pride had helped orchestrate his downfall. Harry would not make the same mistake.

When Harry entered the Slytherin common room, it exploded with cheers and yells. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and tankards of Butterbeer. Somebody had put up a banner which depicted Harry running away with the stolen egg from a fire-breathing dragon, whose fire obviously left him untouched, but for the curls of smoke rising from him. There was another drawing; this one of Diggory—a smaller one—with his head on fire that Harry had thought was in bad taste. " _Diffindo_ ," he cast, and it immediately shredded itself into confetti. No one dared to say a word.

Quite pleased with the celebration, Harry helped himself to the feast, absolutely ravenous. He sat between Theodore and Sally-Anne. To have completed the First Task without injury was a gratifying feeling, and the Second Task wouldn't be for another three months! There would be plenty of time to rout out Voldemort's servant and prepare for the next task.

"Eesh, this is heavy," the skinny-armed Prefect Brunt complained as he lifted the golden egg Harry had left on the table.

"Why don't you open it, so we can get started?" Prefect Carmine had a huffy tone.

"I'm supposed to work out the clue on my own," Harry said with an impish grin.

Everyone laughed uproariously at that, knowing that he had certainly accepted help when he was supposed to have gotten past the dragons on his own too.

Theodore passed the egg to Harry, and he inspected it much more closely. It had intricate patterns all over it and there were hinges along the bottom… and seams running straight to the top. Harry placed his hand at the very top and twisted it.

The moment the flaps dropped down, revealing absolutely nothing inside, the most horrible sound, a loud and screechy wailing filled the room. He dropped the egg covering his ears in pain.

"SHUT IT!" Draco bellowed, his hands clasped to his ears.

The Head Boy dove for the egg, slamming the sides shut. Harry smiled as Wynch set it in his lap. "Thanks."

"What the bloody hell was that?" Prefect Renshaw asked the prefect next to him.

Prefect Dedworth had a frown on her face. Harry was at a loss too.

"Look!" Jennifer Cloveleaf, a first year, exclaimed with awe. Every Slytherin's attention turned and followed the pointed finger towards the tall windows. Fish-like mermaids and mermen were peering inside curiously, their facial fins quirked up.

"Water!" Prefect Dedworth cried out, "Someone conjure a large bowl and put water in it!"

Before long, a great tub of water was sitting in the middle of the room with the golden egg submerged in it before Harry. Draco, Sally-Anne, and all the prefects were circled around the tub with him. Theodore was stuffing his face with the cake. The Full Moon wasn't that far away. "I'll hear it secondhand anyway," he said between bites.

"If I'm right, everyone should be able to listen to the clue underwater," Dedworth said. She was the expert at languages, Harry knew, but what did  _water_  have to do with anything…?

"Alright," Wynch said, "On the count of three, one… two… three—!"

With a great breath of air, Harry dunked his head in with the other seven and quickly spun the clasp. The flaps slowly dropped open. The most melodious voice hit Harry's ears.

" _Come and seek us where our voices sound,  
We cannot sing above the ground_

_An hour long to search and look  
To recover that which we took,_

_But past an hour—the prospect's black,  
Your beloved treasure won't come back."_

Harry broke from the water gasping for air.

"Selkies tend to be more forward than that," Draco said, not looking the least bit out of breath. His hair looked silly when it wasn't slicked down. The prefects had conglomerated, speaking urgently to one another.

"What did they say?" Theodore said between hungry bites, before taking a great swallow of Butterbeer. Then the prefects cast a strange-looking charm on themselves, something that looked crossed between a balloon and a jellyfish, and dunked their heads back into the water. One of them closed the egg and re-opened it beneath the water's surface.

Draco recited the riddle precisely by heart. The first, second and third years were listening to him with rapt attention.

"Yes, quite cryptic," Theodore quipped lightly, "If you didn't already know that Merpeople have a lurid past of snatching these 'beloved treasures' off ships to take to their watery home." He took a giant chomp of an apple. "Oo, this is fantastic!"

"So… what will they be taking? Do you think my Firebolt would be alright underwater?" Harry asked curiously.

"You are  _hopeless_. They're going to snatch someone you care for,  _obviously_ ," Draco said, shrewdly glancing at Theodore, "It would just be our luck that you had to retrieve a certain Muggle-born Gryffindor."

"Don't be jealous!" Pansy admonished. " _You_  just want to be the one taken so you can brag to everyone about being the Grey Grace's favorite."

"Oh, don't use that title. It's horrific," Daphne said sharply. "And Draco's right. Harry's beloved should be a proper Pureblood to rekindle his bloodline."

"Someone like you?" Pansy scoffed. "He's already wary because of the way you look at him."

"Mmm," Daphne said, sharp eyes flicking to Harry. "Better to be noticed than not, my dear flower."

Squabbling exploded between the two fourth years, which soon spread to the younger years. Harry took that distraction to ease his way towards the dormitory stairwell. The rest of the Slytherins seemed caught up in intense debate of who Harry's 'beloved treasure' would be. He wasn't really surprised since they were all obsessed abut who was courting whom. As soon as he made it up the first step, he ran up the stairs to his room. He was going to write to Sirius right away and tell him that he'd done it; he'd passed the First Task!


	12. A Slytherin's Vicissitude

The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Drafty though the castle always was in winter, Harry was glad of its fires and thick walls every time he passed the windows overlooking Black Lake. The Durmstrang ship would pitch in the high winds, its black sails, bound and tied to the mast, rippling against the dark skies, while the Beauxbatons carriage listed.

Hagrid, as the students in Care of Magical Creatures noticed, kept Madam Maxime's horses well provided for in their covered paddock; their troughs were filled to the top with single-malt whiskey, the fumes strong enough to make the entire class light-headed. This was regrettable since they all needed their wits to tend to the horrible Skrewts, which had grown ever larger over the past couple of weeks.

"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid had told them at their next lesson, in the blustery and frigid wind. "Thought we'd jus' try an' see if they fancied a kip…"

Harry was glad he had his Spellfast cloak as it Repelled a lot of the wind and cold. Even so, he shivered when a particularly strong gust would blow his cloak open.

Tethered to posts, there were a dozen Skrewts now, since they had continued to slay one another. Each of them were six feet in length; their thick dark-grey armor, powerful scuttling legs, and fire-blasting ends—not to forget their stings and suckers—combined to place the Skrewts at the top of the most repulsive creatures in existence. The class looked dispiritedly at the boxes Hagrid had brought out, lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.

"Now, we'll jus' lead 'em," Hagrid was saying, pulling one of the Skrewts into the box by a leash tied to a collar about the middle, "An' then put th' lids on—"

But the Skrewt apparently didn't much care for that as the box shattered apart around it, strewing the smoldering pieces all around. It let out an ear-shrieking noise and the other Skrewts simply tore free of their tethers. They began to rampage across the empty pumpkin patch, those with stingers arched over their heads quivered, and those without stingers fired off their ends in a menacing manner. The class scattered in a panic, while Hagrid called for them all to  _stop_   _panicking_. Harry watched it all with an amused expression. The class had discovered in earlier lessons that Skrewt armor repelled magic about as well as dragon hide. The Skrewts' underbellies, however, weren't covered with armor. If Harry somehow had a few volunteers to flip them over, it would make it a simple matter to—

" _You_  won't be trying to round them up," Draco declared to him.

"Like you could stop me," Harry smirked as he moved to join the three Gryffindors who'd volunteered to help Hagrid.

"Crabbe! Goyle! Snatch him!"

Crabbe's meaty arms were easily ducked through, but another thick arm wrapped Harry by his middle and lifted him over a shoulder. Harry tried to reach for his wand, but found it impossible with the jostling lope Goyle used to carry him to Hagrid's cabin.

Frustrated, Harry flailed and kicked, but the arm didn't budge. Hating his small build, he growled, "Put me down, you git!"

"Hex me in th' cabin if'n you want, but an order's an order," Goyle grunted.

It was an embarrassing experience which lasted less than a couple minutes. As Goyle and the others rushed over the uneven ground, Harry let out a resentful sigh at the sight of Neville, Ron, and Hermione tackling the Blast-Ended Skrewts to tie them up. Strange that Hermione hadn't suggested attacking the Skrewts' underbellies; it'd be a lot more efficient, really. It looked dangerous and fun, and Harry would miss it due to overprotective housemates.

After stealing the egg from the dragon, Harry was surprised to discover that he craved more of that buoyant feeling, that excitement of surviving possibly lethal scenarios, the wonderful _rush_ thrumming through him. He'd been so risk averse, had been steered and forced to make his safety top priority from the very moment he'd entered the House of Vipers, that he hadn't a chance to notice it before. Maybe everyone was right to say that he was drawn to hazardous situations. He'd never felt more alive and needed than when he was stretching his neck out for others. Without a controlled setting like the First Task, Harry might never have learned that about himself.

Soon, he was set on a chair, and a teacup with a cracked side was set in front of him. Goyle found the tea leaves and dumped some into Harry's cup. Crabbe poured hot water into the cup from a large copper kettle that had been hanging over the fire. Draco was nice enough to let others in—except Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown—before he gave the order to barricade the doors. The number of classmates made the cabin cramped and warm. Harry stirred the tea, wondering if there was a charm to strain the leaves out.

A few minutes of frowning at the tea must have clued Draco in, for the prat took one look at the steeping tea, twirled his wand, and cast " _Chastrane!_ " As if there were an invisible strainer, the tea leaves were scooped out and flopped in a tiny, wet heap on the scuffed and worn table. Looking self-satisfied, Draco folded his arms across his chest and turned to look out across the darkening grounds where the flashes and bangs alerted the occupants of Hagrid's cabin to the ongoing struggle to subdue the Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Mere days after the First Task, Draco's intense preoccupation with Harry had diminished. That downward progression began with a love declaration—not to Harry obviously. Draco had announced to the common room in his usual blustery manner that he and Pansy Parkinson were officially courting and if anyone so much as looked at her crossways that he'd hex their noses clean off. Pansy had preened from this and immediately swept Draco against her. So caught off guard, Harry had the misfortune of getting an eyeful of them snogging in a most off-putting manner before he had the presence of mind to vacate the premises.

All throughout the following weeks, Harry had thought that the courtship was a clever ruse to lower his guard. Despite this, his roommate never once acted inappropriately towards him whether in class or without, going so far as to avoid casual conversation in their dormitory. After the Polyjuice scandal, the arse had rightly assumed that he was automatically unwelcome within arm's reach and was careful to keep someone between them whenever possible. In fact, Draco shunned any interaction with Harry if it was not in some way connected to his welfare, whether it was Voldemort's plot or rampaging Skrewts. The changes made sharing space with Draco more bearable. And, frankly, it was hard to remain hateful towards someone who knew how to make themselves bloody useful without being asked.

Harry added a few cubes of sugar from the covered dish sitting before him, stirred the tea, and then took a careful sip.

There was a knock on the windowsill and a head full of blond curls popped in: Rita Skeeter. "Well, well, well… This looks fun!" She said looking at the crowded firelit interior as explosions sounded behind her. " _Ah_ , you're here, Harry! So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?"

"Oh, yes," Harry said happily as he thought spiritedly of Quidditch. Several Hufflepuff wizards snorted. Timothy Awdry, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Ernest Macmillan had similar expressions of dismay on their faces, uncomprehending of Harry's enthusiasm for such an unstructured curriculum and constantly ill-prepared professor. They didn't understand that such things made the course so  _exciting_!

"Lovely," she said, her quill scribbling away, "Really lovely."

"You're not allowed on Hogwarts grounds," Draco said sharply, "When my father hears of this—!"

"No need, no need. I just spotted my next interview!" Flicking her fingers in a graceful arc, Skeeter said in an annoying tone, "Toodles, Ha-rryyy!" She disappeared from the window to a collective sigh of relief. Their classmates began to whisper and chat again.

"Guess there's a first time for everything," Harry said, not sure whether he should trust that she was gone.

"What?" Crabbe said over his left shoulder.

"His catchphrase didn't grate on my ears."

"I only save it for the best moments now," Draco announced to the wall.

Harry let out a laugh at the absurdity of the proud Malfoy heir refusing to look at him. While their classmates looked about uneasily, not seeing what was so funny, his other two roommates smiled.

At least it wasn't much longer until the Skrewts were rounded up. Harry had cheered when he saw the Gryffindor trio approach Hagrid's cabin, and the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs joined in, though a little less enthusiastically.

Exiting the cramped cabin, Harry saw that the Gryffindors who'd braved the explosions looked as if they'd only suffered minor cuts and burns. He couldn't determine whether the Skrewts were bad shots or stupid. They were  _blind_  after all, not having any sensory organs beyond taste and smell. Maybe his classmates were just lucky.

A bell tolled after Hagrid assigned nothing for homework and then they went to dinner. Harry was busy demolishing a kidney pie when a voice dreamily asked, "How's the Nargles and Wrackspurts, Harry?"

He made a face. He'd forgotten about their planned meetup. "Terrible. Do they always make a person so forgetful?"

"Oh, the Wrackspurts certainly do," Luna said with a distant sageness.

"I have a free period tomorrow afternoon. Same place as usual?"

"Okay," she said, danced away without specifying an exact time. Harry would often find her wandering the halls by herself. He wondered how her classes were, what marks she made, and whether she ever finished her homework if she was lurking the corridors on a frequent basis. A bit of jealousy sprung at the thought of free time.  _Next year really ought to be better_ , Harry thought,  _even with O.W.L.s_. There'd be no champion business or assignments that came with a dual enrollment.

"What was it you wanted wit' Loony Luna?" Goyle asked with a look that expressed that he thought Harry was very strange to keep her company.

"That's Restricted Information." Harry took a large swig of Pumpkin Juice.

At Harry's right, Theodore drawled, "That's easy. You're snogging her. The ones with their marbles loose are always the best."

On the other side of Goyle, Draco made a choking noise. " _Harry_? The same Harry who proclaimed kissing vile a month ago? Hah!"

"What?" Theodore held a puzzled look on his face. " _Still_?"

Harry gave them a disgusted look. "Why would I  _kiss_  her?"

"Why  _wouldn't_  you? She's not bad-looking," Theodore answered, looking over at the Ravenclaw table until a small hand thwapped the back of his head. "Oi! What've you—oh, hello, darling," he said sweetly to Sally-Anne, who gave him a dark look.

"Don't 'darling' me! If we're going to the Yule Ball, then you have to stop eyeing every girl you see!"

Harry took a chomp from a piece of turkey leg and watched the drama unfold. He liked that he wasn't the one getting yelled at.

"I wasn't flirting with her and I wasn't even really  _looking_. I was  _only_  encouraging Harry, I swear."

"What about the times Harry  _wasn't_  around, hm? Marjorie said you've been ogling her."

"I wasn't. I simply asked if I might have a sheet of parchment. You know I'm only a bit better than Harry at conjuring new ones. Dunning's a bit conceited if you ask me. Any attention from a wizard and she assumes we're hitting on her." When Sally-Anne raised an eyebrow at him and scowled, Theodore raised his hand and pressed it to his chest. "I'm sorry," the werewolf said with a contrite tone, the entirety of his attention on the bespectacled girl. "I'll exert more restraint with the lovely ladies… excluding  _you_." He took her hand and kissed it lightly, and then turned her hand up and kissed the inside of her wrist.

Sally-Anne blushed bright red, something Harry had never seen her do before, not even when the two had been snogging some weeks back. His spoon of sweetbreads was halfway to his mouth. "Erm… when did they begin dating exactly?" Harry was not sure how he'd missed that. Then again, they  _had_  been snogging the day he'd taken Death's Door.

"The day after you took on a servant," Draco said quietly when no one answered for several moments. The prat blinked and gave Harry a very serious look. "You don't have a date… Do you?" He sounded scandalized by the prospect. When Harry only gave him a bored look, Draco laid a hand against his temple, "Of course!" He swirled the goblet of water in his cupped hand as if it were wine. "Without me to pester you, you'd spend all your free time toiling in the library or my godfather's Potions lab," he muttered.

"I don't need a date."

With a wrinkled nose, Draco looked thoroughly unconvinced but kept any further comments about the matter to Pansy who sat on the other side of him.

Harry heard the tinkling of silver bells. With an irritated expression, he looked to the doors of the Great Hall. Wynch was gazing in his direction, and as soon as their eyes met the sweet noise stopped. Harry smothered his annoyance. The seventh year had promised he would only do that if it was important. "I'm going to the toilet," he announced getting up.

Draco was about to stand, but Harry gestured for him to stay and pointed towards Wynch. "Head Boy's offered."

With a sigh Draco sat down. "Am I allowed to find someone suitable for you?"

"No, I've no reason to trust you," Harry responded bluntly, noting how a shadow flickered through grey eyes. If Draco was hurt, it was his own fault. Harry walked across the stone floor, turned at the end of the tables, and then passed through the doors. The Head Boy was leaning casually against the wall adjacent to the double doors. Harry frowned at him. "What is it?"

"I have some good news." Wynch offered an already-opened letter as they took a seat at the bench across from Slytherin's empty painting.

It was addressed to Wynch, so Harry wondered what it could possibly do with him. He unfolded the parchment and began to read the elegantly slanted calligraphy:

_Dear Mr. Wynch,_

_We formally allow our daughter to go to the Yule Ball on Christmas Day at eight in the evening with Mr. Harry Potter, provided that he pays the necessary expenses for a suitable set of dress robes and accessories as is expected of a champion's date._

_If this is not agreeable, then we will politely decline your proposal at this time._

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur and Molly Weasley_

"You matched me with  _Ginny_?" Alarm resounded through Harry, the nightmare of her blank stare and cold prone body rushing to greet him. The parchment crinkled in Harry's grip.

"Naturally, my Lord," the Head Boy murmured, with a concerned frown.

Wynch didn't know his fears. He couldn't have known that she was the last person Harry wanted to have Voldemort's attention. "With  _Ginny_?"

"I presumed that you liked her. If not, then I—"

"I didn't say that," Harry said. "But you have to refuse. Tell them that it was all your idea and you hadn't asked me first."

Students walked by in tight groups. Having finished their meals they were heading to the courtyard.

Several wrinkles formed across Wynch's forehead. "Should I let Malfoy find you a, hm,  _proper_  date?" When Harry scoffed in opposition to that idiotic idea, Wynch asked, "Then why not Ginny?"

"Couldn't I go…  _without_  a date?" Harry had to admit he was intensely uncomfortable by the prospect of dating. Walking and holding hands, he could do. Anything else—and here images of exactly what the  _else_ entailed thanks to that  _Knowing Your Body_  book—was unappealing. It wasn't like he was incapable; the plumbing, so to speak, was in working order. More like, the Wizard photographs in those  _Mortar and Pestle_  magazines never engendered randy moods no matter the pairing of sexes or number of positions or people flaunting their nakedness.

Theodore's book had talked about the normalcy of attraction, a sort of mental magnetism, towards others along with the attendant physical responses—butterflies in the stomach, dry mouth, elevated heart rate and breathing, and so forth—but never spoke of an absolute lack of attraction. Harry hoped he was simply a late bloomer and not defective. The constant scrutiny of his non-existent dating habits chafed.

Wynch sighed. "Professor Snape made it very clear that having a dance partner for the Yule Ball was non-negotiable. It is tradition for the champions to open the ball."

" _Dance_  partners?" Harry's insides seemed to curl up and shrivel. "I don't dance," he said quickly.

"Oh, yes, you do," Wynch said much too warmly. "You may not like it, but you know how."

"I won't dance," he reiterated, feeling his face grow hot at the thought of making a fool of himself. That greasy-haired git would probably enjoy the sight of Harry tripping over his feet.

"From the sounds of it, this is part of the  _binding magical contract_  with the Goblet of Fire."

" _Dancing_  is part of the contract?" That sounded very doubtful. Harry peered at him suspiciously.

The Head Boy raised his hands. "Look. You'll have to take this up with Professor Snape. He seemed to think that you still owed him a demonstration of the efficacy of your antidote…?"

Harry snorted. He had already gotten his marks back on that assignment. "You mean, he's threatening to poison me if I refuse to dance..." Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it. "Wonder what the headmaster would think."

"Professor Dumbledore would tell you that you had to dance." Wynch's lips quirked. "Otherwise, our Head of House would not be going to all this trouble."

"I guess if he's  _that_  desperate I might as well do it." Wynch laughed at that. Harry fidgeted as several Hufflepuffs looked their way curiously. "It's not that funny," he muttered.

"Yes it is. If he finds out you agreed because you took pity on  _him_ …"

"Then I guess he won't find out then, will he?" The sodding bastard had no sense of humor. Best not to say they were making fun of his methods.

Wynch pouted for a second. "Rain on my parade… I wanted to see his face. The stony one where his eye has that tic?"

"It's the massive vein on his forehead that I notice whenever he goes into a rage. You ever see him do that before?"

"No, and I hope I never bloody will."

Harry gave him skeptical look. "In seven years, you've never seen him lose his head?"

"Before you showed up, Professor Snape was always calm and collected. He'd yell, yeah, but not like he does now. I imagine it's your nonchalant attitude towards danger that unhinges him."

"Don't think so. My parents and their friends went to school with him. They didn't get on, so we don't get on." There was a period of silence as more students filtered out of the Great Hall. "Oh and the bit about him being a Death Eater complicates matters. Since You-Know-Who means to rise again and will likely summon his old servants back. Wouldn't be good to see us on good terms, yeah?"

"Hm," Wynch looked across the Entrance Hall with a thoughtful frown.

Bulstrode and Tracey exited the girls' lavatory and were headed towards them, likely to rejoin their friends in the Great Hall. Seeing them, Harry had a brilliant spit of inspiration. "I've got a better plan for the Yule Ball. Wait here." The Head Boy was left on the bench as Harry hurried over to the witches. "Tracey, er." He suddenly lost his nerve when they turned to look at him.

Without the fear the smaller witch had been giving him all year, Tracey gave him a curious look and then nodded. She shot a smile up at her friend. "Milly, we need a moment. Wait for me?"

Still reading her book, Bulstrode nodded and then walked towards the double doors to sit on the bench beside the Head Boy.

Shoulders stiff and head held up high, Tracey grasped her hands tightly in front of her. "What did you want to talk about, Harry?"

Good, she didn't use a title. Harry took a breath to settle his nerves. She didn't have a date, but that didn't guarantee that she'd say yes. "Would you go to the Yule Ball with me? I'll pay any price you name if you agree to go." When she shot him a suspicious look, he held his hands up. "We'd be going as friends, nothing more."

Eyelids fluttering, Tracey's tension lessened. "Then what's the catch? Someone like you doesn't ask someone like me out on a whim. We hardly ever talk."

Harry hesitated.  _Of course_  everything would be politics and chess moves. His mind settled on something she would balk at, but not outright refuse. "You have to attend without any Beauty Enchantments."

" _Why_?" Tracey's voice whipped out. Her entire body was rigid, hand hovering to pull her wand on him. "So you can laugh at me, too?"

"No," Harry faltered when she put space between them. His housemate was already livid. As long as he didn't make that worse this might work. "Because you don't need them. Flawless beauty doesn't define who you are."

"Not anymore it doesn't," she said cuttingly, the fingers of her left hand tracing over the spot where the acid burn was hidden. Her steel grey eyes flashed like daggers.

"Who you are is someone with a good mind for past events, battles and the like. You've a sharp eye for detail, and if anyone's to become a Muggle expert in our year it'd be you."

"Yes, relegated to a field of study that half the Wizarding World spits on for the rest of my life. Wonder how my parents would feel about that… Tracey the ' _Muggle_  expert'." She let out a harsh laugh, her fingers digging harder against her left cheek, which left a bleached white mark in the depression.

"Honestly, you could do anything you set your mind to," Harry tried again. She didn't look impressed.

"You don't know what it's like," his housemate said, "How can you? You've never said anything about wanting children." Steel grey eyes flicked up and down his frame. "What a waste, being potent into your hundreds, while we witches last only to our early fifties." Those dainty fingers dug ever more into the curve of pale cheek. Harry was worried she would draw blood. "No one wants to marry an  _ugly Half-blood bitch_ ," she spat out. "Before long, I'll be old and barren … Alone." The last word seemed wrenched from her, but her eyes were dry, exuding a frigidity that could only be matched in the coldest blizzard.

Harry stepped forward gingerly. He didn't dare reach out to place a hand over the taut fingers on her face though his hand itched to. "You're right. I don't know what it's like to be you." His eyes locked with hers. "But… I know what it's like to be hurt. I know what it's like to be punished for something that's out of your control. Someone decided you were defenseless and chose to take advantage." Harry remembered the numerous occasions that he'd been slammed down by Dudley, one time so hard that his ears rang for hours after. The unfairness and simmering anger when his complaints were ignored in favor of  _Duddykins'_ sobs about his favorite clothes getting ruined. The despair at knowing Harry could never retaliate in a way that would bring satisfaction.

When he shook his head to clear it of memories, he saw that his housemate stared at him, appearing unmoved. She had calmed; her fingers had unlocked from her face and ran gently, soothingly over the angry red, wedged impressions. Her gaze had warmed, so Harry continued. "Thanks to the Dursleys I feel trapped whenever I look inside a cupboard under an innocent set of stairs…" When she said nothing, Harry mimicked her, tracing figure-eights over his own cheek. "You know what I think?"

"What?" Tracey murmured, eyebrows bent in confusion at the fingers on his face.

"Your scar is a symbol… It represents your struggle against evil, your strength. And mine…" His fingers graced the lightning bolt shape and he grimaced, dropping his wand-hand. That didn't make a nice, spur-of-the-moment analogy as he thought it would. He was tainted with the evil that had permanently scarred him.

She watched him with an odd expression. "It's the same more or less," she said. "Except you were very lucky to have survived."

Harry decided it would be best to avoid disagreeing. "Or cursed," his traitorous lips muttered.

"Be that as it may…" The pads of Tracey's fingers ran over the hidden scar again. "Your scar became a symbol of hope, whereas mine came to be one of despair. I could bare it for all to see, act cavalier, but I would be pitied, not revered. Treated like a victim, shunned and ridiculed for calling attention to myself. This…" Here she smiled savagely. " _Defacement_  has made me an undesirable, a clear warning to any future suitors."

"A warning?"

Tracey looked away, hand dropping from her face. "I misspoke. I meant—"

"No, you didn't," Harry argued. "It's Yaxley, isn't it?"

"It's not any concern of yours. I am perfectly capable of defending myself." The tension was back, visible in the way she clenched her jaw. "Besides, he wouldn't dare attack  _you_ , hero of the British Isles."

He knew her last assertion was a lie. Her informal tone was at odds with the stiff way she held her body; the contradiction screamed it. "I can take care of myself as well, Tracey. Some slimy coward who'd throw acid on an unsuspecting target wouldn't have a chance against me. A weakling like that? No, never. Though he'd be sure to boast that he could." A shudder rolled through her, and her fingers went to pull against the skin of her cheek but aborted the gesture to cover her eyes. Before Harry realized it, his housemate was crying. He hadn't meant to make her cry. Merlin, he was bollocks at this. "Sorry—"

Her golden-brown hair flew out as she shook her head vehemently at him. "Don't. It's… good to hear that." Tracey stepped forward appearing uneasy, her few tears wiped away. For a moment, Harry wasn't sure what she was up to and then stayed quite still when her arms came forward. She hugged him—more like gripped his sides actually—so she wasn't pressed against him. She let out a lungful of shuddering air, forehead pressed to his shoulder. "You  _understand_. And that's worth its weight in phoenix tears."

And then the moment was over, and Tracey darted backwards, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief she pulled from a pouch. She didn't even seem to care when a group of Gryffindor witches walked by gawking and giggling at them. With a deep breath, Tracey blew into her handkerchief. "Thank you." Her eyes looked him over as her fingers wrenched the bit of cloth. "I want to go to the ball. But Yaxley won't like that… He's…  _possessive_  until he gets what he desires."

"What he desires?"

She shuttered away any worry from her expression. Her lip curled slightly and then flattened. "Geoffrey lives for the chase," she said with a subdued tone, hands wrapped tightly around the handkerchief. "The sooner I acquiesce to his attentions, the sooner he'll leave me alone… This, of course,  _after_  he Obliviates me again."

That left an unpleasant taste in Harry's mouth, but he had no idea what to say.

"Since most know how he operates…" Tracey shoved the handkerchief back into the pouch, which she busied herself with untying and retying to the belt for no apparent reason. "There's been little in the way of that. Parcels and letters from him are automatically turned away, and our younger housemates were warned against getting drawn into conversations with him. However, I can't be alone. Not even to leave the dormitories if I need to use the loo."

Harry tried to imagine what it was like to be on guard even inside the common room. Hellish was putting it mildly. "That sounds terrifying. Why hasn't Snape put a stop to it?"

A bitter look crossed her features as she fingered a plain band of twine around her wand-hand. "I'm sure he's tried to have Yaxley expelled on technicality, but beyond that bastard's fetish with disfigured Halfbloods he's a model student and doesn't stir up trouble. And before you ask, the Wizengamot considers the matter closed since his family gave mine a dowry to buy my parents' silence."

He stared at her with a sinking feeling in his stomach. "…They wouldn't make you get engaged to your attacker?" He wasn't entirely sure if they would or not.

Tracey shook her head vehemently. "As soon as money and artefacts exchanged hands, I refused the marriage proposal for a second time with a courtroom full of witnesses." Her knuckles were tight as her hands closed into fists. She let out a soft chuckle, her eyes distant. "He didn't quite like that," she murmured.

Harry nodded. He wasn't entirely sure how to proceed. "You said he's done this before."

There was a hesitant nod. "Two others, a Ravenclaw in his year and a sixth-year Hufflepuff. None of our families have the political leverage or the Blood Status to have him more severely punished. He's very careful, you see. It's our word against his. And everyone's afraid of his father, since he's a high-ranking Ministry official." She looked at Harry straight on as if a thought suddenly occurred to her. "You don't know what Geoffrey looks like… Do you?"

He shook his head.

"Of course not. You aren't his type." Tracey glanced around, stepping a bit closer when she saw that the corridor was clear of everyone besides the Head Boy and Bulstrode. She lowered her voice. "He's only a bit taller than me, long honey-blond hair tied up, grey eyes like mine. He's only a year older than us. You might've seen him around. He's… quiet."

Every muscle in her seemed to have seized up as she spoke about her attacker. Harry waited a few moments longer. "I'll go have a chat with him."

An uncertain smile spilled over her face. "Then I'll expect a money order of one hundred fifty Galleons by next week, so I can collect what I need on a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Right."

Holding his gaze, Tracey lifted a hand and held it out. They shook hands, and then she ran fingers through her hair and once more held her usual poise with slightly reddened eyes. " _Be careful_. He's more dangerous than he appears, and you won't want to talk with either of his friends present—Sourav Kartik and Cameron Boyle. They would move heaven and earth for him no matter who he hurts." After Harry nodded, Tracey turned away from him. She didn't say anything to Bulstrode as the other witch stood up, book closed and hanging by her side.

When the two witches had left the Entrance Hall, Wynch could not stop grinning at Harry. "Agreeing to honor fights now?"

Yaxley sounded like the sort to need to be knocked down a peg or two. He shrugged. "If I were, I doubt that either Mrs. Longbottom or my godfather would send a Howler for it. I suspect they'd cheer me on."

"I'm rooting for you."

Harry tapped the hilt of his wand for several thoughtful moments. "Now to scrounge up the hundred fifty Galleons  _without_  my current guardian finding out."

"Let me take care of that. You focus on Yaxley." Wynch stood, smoothing down his robes from habit.

"Alright." Harry nearly turned to go into the Great Hall when an idea struck, a possible solution to his other problem. "Wynch… If you're good at Legilimency, would you perhaps be any good at its counter?"

A flicker of guilt crossed the seventh year's face. "I've little skill for Occlumency besides the rudimentaries; otherwise I would have offered it."

"Could you teach me the basics? I've struggled with clearing my mind for months. Too much clutter."

The Head Boy nodded. "If you're having that much difficulty, it'd probably be a good idea to start with what I know. Say… this Sunday?"

"I'm free Sunday."

A hand clapped once on Harry's shoulder. "Excellent. Meet me in the common room at ten. We can decide where to practice after that."

Harry smiled. Those who were bloodsworn were incapable of betraying those they served, even if they were befuddled with potions or tortured until they were half-mad. His secrets would be safe.

* * *

For holiday break, every fourth year and above decided to remain at Hogwarts. Harry  _had_ planned to stay at Longbottom Manor for Christmas. Now that plan had fallen apart, he was attempting to look forward to the Yule Ball. He couldn't fool himself; he hated dancing and attention. He would get both in spades at the ball. Harry sighed. He suspected he was the only one to feel this way. No matter the class, everyone was obsessed with the coming ball—especially the witches. They were whispering in the corridors, squealing with laughter as others passed them, excitedly comparing notes on what they were going to wear or who would be taking out whom. Harry could almost swear he was being followed by witches from his house, but he chalked it up to paranoia. He already had a date for the Yule Ball. They would have heard about it by now.

The first Occlumency lesson with Wynch had been terrible. Harry had finished the first assault on his mind curled up on the stone floor, shivering. Horrible memories, long-forgotten, had been called forward; the pain and nausea of a concussion when Dudley grabbed Harry by the ankle when he'd shown how easy it was to climb onto the stone wall; waking with a throbbing headache in the cupboard as the Dursleys discussed what to do with the body if Harry died; the sound of a bone snapping when Dudley shoved Harry down a set of steep stone stairs in a church belfry; Aunt Petunia screaming at him for causing so much trouble with his foolishness when he showed her the bend in his bruised and swelling arm and Uncle Vernon grabbing Harry by the elbow and setting the arm with a quick pull of Harry's wrist, Aunt Petunia splinting it, the ensuing darkness of the cupboard after two pills of aspirin. An endless fragmented litany of nastiness stemming from his childhood, fully suppressed until Wynch had summoned them forward.

"You need to center yourself," Wynch repeated gently. "So that when I tug, you aren't helpless to relive the memories."

"I didn't know half of them were there," Harry said with hurried gulps of air as he pushed himself up. "How can I center myself if I don't know where my center is?"

Wynch's eyes were sympathetic, but he stayed well away since Harry had firmly asked that he not be touched during the lesson after the first time he'd collapsed. The seventh year paced along the back wall of the abandoned classroom, past the numerous skulls that were on display in dusty glass containers. "Ground yourself. Find what deeply matters to you and cling to that. Having something else to focus on can alleviate what you're facing. It's only a crutch though. True Occlumens need no such exploitable weakness to occlude their minds."

Having gathered some control over himself, Harry stood. His head ached, and his heart would rather do anything else, but this was necessary to protect his friends. Harry would do anything to ensure that. "Again."

"No. Go any longer and it'll weaken what little defenses you have." Wynch had already holstered his wand. "Did you have any questions about the lesson?" At the gentle shake of Harry's head, Wynch said, "Then let's meet here again next Sunday. Continue practicing what I've taught you so far. Add grounding and centering to your meditation sessions. It should help."

They left the classroom going in opposite directions. Harry was glad for the Torpor Rune; otherwise he would've been plagued with nightmares. The classes in between meditation with Luna were a bit of a blur since Harry threw most of his energy into them. The subsequent Occlumency sessions weren't as rough, and Harry had gotten the hang of distancing himself from the emotional and mental onslaught dredged up by unpleasant memories.

"If you don't mind me asking, what do you use as the focus?" Wynch asked at the end of their third Sunday.

"I know it's stupid, but I use my fame as the Boy-Who-Lived. The Dursleys wouldn't have been able to touch that. I'm not a thug or a criminal like they always said I was. I'm decent and likable and so were my parents." The last came out as a harsh whisper. "My mum and dad were war heroes, not drunkards."

"It's been weighing on you for a long time, hasn't it?"

Harry gave him a curious look.

Wynch waved a hand at the ceiling. "The belief that you deserved it all: everything your relatives did to you. That somehow those Muggles knew the perfectly justifiable reason for the mistreatment, the misery they heaped on you, but wouldn't tell you. That if you understood  _why_  you could stop doing whatever-it-was that made them hate you."

That left Harry breathless as if he'd been gut-punched. How had Wynch known? "I figured it out early on that it wasn't anything I could help," Harry said softly. "In their eyes, I was a freak who made inexplicable things happen.  _Magic_  was a forbidden word, a dirty one." Anger coursed through him as Harry remembered how they'd prohibited him from having friends. How those who weren't intimidated by Dudley were turned away by his aunt and uncle with lie after lie. ' _The boy said he doesn't want to be friends with someone fat and ugly like you_.' ' _Friends? Hah! The boy lies.' 'He's dangerous, a sociopath and arsonist of the worst sort. It's why his delinquent parents dropped him off with us.'_ How Harry had stopped trying to befriend others when basic subterfuge was lost on his classmates; he had told them under no certain terms to ever call or visit his relatives, but often they couldn't help themselves. Even if his schoolmates managed to resist the temptation, their parents would inevitably try to connect with the Dursleys and that always, always had ended in disaster. "The little freak doing freakish things," he muttered.

With a distressed expression, the seventh year had moved closer. He looked on the cusp of placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder but turned away at the last moment. His hand clenched in and out of fists. "How did you ever pass the Psych Evaluation?"

"The healer said I partially Obliviated myself. Accidental magic. Makes sense since what I remember is in fragments. Like splinters of lost memories."

A sigh was loudly exhaled as the Head Boy paced again. "Could be why your natural defenses are in tatters." Wynch stretched his arms over his head. After a heartbeat of silence, he said, "Well! I think it'll only be another go before you've caught up to what I know. After, you'll want to practice on your own, especially if you're going to Professor Snape for lessons."

With that, they picked up their bookbags abandoned by the door.

"Wynch?" When the older student turned, Harry said, "Thanks. I don't think I would've caught on as quickly if Snape was rummaging around my head like that."

That earned a pronounced wince. "Between you and me, our Head of House has a heavy-handed form of Legilimency. He tears through any defenses you might have like an earthmover, causing unnecessary damage. It's… brutal. You spend more time shoring up broken defenses so the lessons don't drive you mad than learning anything."

"Professor Dumbledore's Legilimency is nothing like that."

"Oh?" Wynch led the way out, snuffing out the lights with a flick of his wand. Harry set them on the path to the library.

"You can hardly tell he's there, watching. And he doesn't leave you with a headache."

"Would've been nice to learn from him then. Might've taken a few weeks rather than months to learn the little I know."

Once they passed Madam Pince at her desk, they found a quiet corner to finish whatever was left of that week's assignments. For Harry, it was mostly work from Salem Institute. The Modern Runes packets had been quite easy compared to their equivalent Potions curriculum. Over three decades ago, a team of enterprising Potioneers set out to derive the active components in various magical flora and fauna. Their experiments bore fruit, and now Harry had to learn a great deal of Muggle chemistry, the periodic table and various reactions, to even begin to understand the nomenclature of the Magichemistry assignments.

In the process, he learned that many of the potions he brewed were less potent than they could be due to various impurities. However, the magichemists had discovered that these impurities rendered the potions non-toxic to the magical drinker. To counter that, magichemists diluted their potions to one active part to a hundred or more inactive parts. The best part? Many of these homeopathic solutions were odorless and tasteless, owing to the fact that the active compounds were often undetectable. Harry need not ever choke through a revolting potion again. It was a shame that exclusive rights to the derivation process made the solutions exorbitantly expensive for the average international witch or wizard.

And so, it was during an unusually unlively class of Double Potions—since they hadn't brewed any potions—that Harry heard Neville ask Weasley in a whisper, "Why do they have to move in packs? Gran wants me to ask one of them, but…"

"Lasso one?" The redhead suggested flippantly.

Neville shook his head fiercely, looking utterly timid at the prospect of asking a girl to the ball.

Harry thought he ought to take pity on his brother. He leaned back a bit. "Neville, why don't you try Luna Lovegood? She's a third year Ravenclaw, and I'm sure she'd love to go with you." Luna had mentioned the Yule Ball at least twice in their spontaneous meditation sessions, and then many times more whenever he ventured to see her after class.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville said with a grin.

"She's probably great at snogging too," Theodore tossed in, which cause Neville's face flush, and then Theodore's eyes flicked towards Sally-Anne. "Sal, don't look at me like that."

Sally-Anne's expression was tense, but she didn't threaten violence or otherwise glare daggers at him. "Sorry."

"It's all right, love. Trust will come, if slowly." Theodore nosed the side of her head, and she relaxed against him. Harry looked away.

"You're barmy to suggest  _Loony Luna_ ," Weasley said crinkling his nose like Draco did whenever Harry mentioned her name. The two would probably have fits if Harry ever pointed out their similar reactions. It was most fortunate that Draco stayed out of such conversations as a result of his self-imposed aloofness. The prat made stirring up trouble seem effortless.

Harry asked, "She's nice, and Neville needs a date… Do you have one?"

A flash of panic crossed Weasley's fair, freckled features. "Er, well… I—You know. I have someone in mind." The Gryffindor shifted as if uncomfortable by the sudden attention.

"You mean you  _haven't_  asked her—"

"Potter, my office, now," Professor Snape interrupted before Harry could suggest the obvious pick of Hermione Granger. She was missing due to a sudden onset of the Fading Flu, which had passed like wildfire through the Durmstrang students and many older Slytherins and Ravenclaws. The infirmary was packed to capacity. Being extremely contagious, the prefects had been on lookout for anyone who began to sneeze incessantly; the first of many symptoms which eventually ended with the ill student turning invisible. As usual, Harry hadn't felt even a sniffle coming on.

"The rest of you get to work before I assign detention," the professor sneered at the Gryffindors before returning to the squat room adjacent to the Potions classroom.

With a parting glance at his friends, Harry entered the office. Snape swung his wand at the door, which slammed in the faces of curious students. "You have dance lessons during your free period Tuesday afternoon next week in the Transfigurations Classroom." The Potions Master took a seat behind his desk.

" _Dance_  lessons," Harry parroted. He forced himself to calm. "I didn't sign up."

Snape's cheek twitched as he sent a flat stare at him.

" _You_  signed me up," he said glumly.

"Would you prefer tripping over the hem of your date's dress robes or stepping on her toes?" Snape was browsing through graded essays to separate them into piles.

"Professor Snape," Harry tried again.

"You will do the lessons," came the clipped, snippy tone.

"But I already know how to dance. Mrs. Longbottom forced us with dance tutors three times a week all summer long."

"Then I shall inquire upon your  _actual_  ability."

Harry forced himself not to make a face, even though taking  _more_  dance lessons would be a waste of time. Why couldn't Snape just lift the memories from him? Better yet, if they were supposed to be at odds with each other, why the bloody hell would the bastard do anything as helpful as sign him up for classes? "Yes, sir," he said moving towards the door.

"You are not dismissed, Potter."

Grounding down his jaw, Harry stared at the blackwood door. "My dress robes are hanging in my wardrobe, and I have a date to the ball. What  _else_  is there to discuss, sir?"

"Occlumency lessons," Snape said with a hard tone as if he might prefer to do anything else, like harvest the toxic yolks of doxy eggs which reeked of sulfur, "Lovegood informed me that you've learned the fundamentals."

"Ah," Harry said thinking it was better not to question Snape's bare approximation of a conversation with Luna. He glanced impatiently at the wizard.

"I expect to see you here at three o'clock Wednesday afternoon, the week after the ball." Snape picked up a quill and unrolled what looked to be a student's Potions essay. He immediately began marking it in red, scribbling notes in the margin with a derisive frown.

Not even bothering to mention that they were still on holiday then, Harry reached for the door handle. "Yes, sir." At least there was enough time left to squeeze in another lesson with Wynch. The fourth year opened the door. Hearing the distant bell, he collected his things and walked out of the smelly Potions lab with his friends down the corridor to the Slytherin common room. Lastly, he had a plan to deal with Yaxley…

On the whole, Harry had to admit that even with the embarrassing prospect of opening the ball before him, life had definitely improved since he had passed the First Task. He wasn't attracting nearly as much unpleasantness in the corridors anymore, which he suspected had to do with the combined efforts of Diggory and the Weasley twins. Ever since the ferret incident, Finnigan steered clear of Harry; when they passed in the corridors or Great Hall, they ignored one another.

It was more common that he was approached by fans for autographs or photographs, which were both an equally awkward experience. This change would have been refreshing, if not for the results of the First Task re-kindling rampant interest from fan clubs. Even a petition had made rounds denouncing the Durmstrang High Master's unfair score. Other than the two Harry remembered from his second year, the Potterheads and Pleasant Pals, he was astonished to find that several little known fan clubs like Mad About Harry Potter and Harry Potter Is Mine had combined to form Harry's Watch. Their mainstay was to follow Harry around to watch and 'protect' him—stalk him, really, even when Harry did the exciting task of research in the Hogwarts Library. At those moments, he was thankful that his friends remained by him, and if Theodore couldn't, even Draco proved useful in deterring their attention. Even Madam Pince didn't take kindly to whispering from the rabid 'fans'. Harry was never more grateful for the old witch as he was when she banished them from the library.

By Tuesday, the horrid dance lesson turned out to be fun. Tracey Davis wasn't present, so Harry assumed that she was already a splendid dancer. There weren't any Gryffindors in the room; the rumor was that Professor McGonagall had already given them a special lesson the week prior. A couple of students made gagging or mocking motions as the Gryffindor Head of House waxed poetic about ferocious badgers and graceful ravens. Finally, Professor McGonagall asked for a male student to step forward to dance with her.

The old witch was pleased when Harry quickly volunteered. He sprang at the chance to show her what he knew, in the hopes that she would report back to the greasy-haired bastard. Harry hadn't counted on the sighs from the witches watching. It made him nervous as the professor loudly described where to place one's hands on one's dance partner. With a flick of her hand, Professor McGonagall turned on the gramophone and verbalized the proper steps to dancing, which Harry followed with ease.

The Transfigurations Professor seemed moderately impressed when he led her through the Wizard waltz, while she described the steps to the others. During the quarter-turn lifts, Harry was surprised by how lightweight she was, but perhaps the professor had helped him out with a bit magic, considering the extreme height difference. When the music finished, Professor McGonagall's face was rosy and her eyes alight with mischievous delight. "Very good, Potter. Had a few lessons?"

"A summer's worth," he said begrudgingly.

The Gryffindor Head of House smiled. Tilting her head back, she called out, "Miss Abbott! Would you care to dance with Mr. Potter?"

The Hufflepuff squeaked, and her friend, Susan Bones, shoved her forward. Hannah's face was red as she stumbled towards Harry. With a slight smirk on his face, Harry bowed elegantly and offered a hand. "May I have this dance?" There were hisses issued from the witches, envy clear in their voices about not being chosen.

She made another incoherent noise as the rest of her fair skin went pink. She stumbled a bit into a curtsy and then lightly placed her hand in his. He pulled her gently towards him and helped her place her hands correctly. Her hand was very warm as he cupped it with his.

"I might step on your toes," she said with a mortified expression as Professor McGonagall started the music up again.

"Relax and follow my lead. Keep your eyes on mine," Harry said.

Professor McGonagall began to count. "And…! One two three, one two three…"

Harry swept Abbott across the floor, adjusting whenever she stumbled over her feet or fumbled the hand changes. The flaxen hair fluttered behind Abbott's pigtails, her dark blue eyes shining with excitement and joy. After the initial squeak on the first lift, she began to giggle thereafter, obviously enjoying herself. When the music was over, she was reluctant to pull away.

Pleased, Professor McGonagall clapped once. "Mr. Cornfoot, with me if you please. Miss Yellen—Padma, would you get—yes, thank you. Miss Yellen, with Potter. The rest of you find a partner!"

An ebony-skinned Ravenclaw shuffled forward with extremely thick glasses. Her robes declared her first name as Ramona. Her hair was braided in rows and twisted together in one strand to the middle of her back. Harry bowed and offered a hand. "May I have this dance?"

Nodding, she enacted a quick curtsy and placed her soft hand into his. Squinting with a look of intense concentration, Yellen was quick to gather up his hand and place her left hand on his shoulder. He set his hand on her shoulder blade. "Ready?" He asked. Her eyes were like pools of ink, but even when she didn't answer he could sense her anticipation. And then the music began. It was with some relief that she already knew how to dance, hopping at the lifts to help out.

Like Abbott and the professor before her, she was smiling at the end of it. With a quick step back, she curtsied again and made a quick deliberate gesture with her hand. Harry blinked at her with confusion as she partnered up with Anthony Goldstein who made several gestures towards her and then offered his hand.

"She's deaf," Patil stated next to Harry. She mimicked Yellen's gesture. "She was thanking you."

"Oh," he said dumbly. He'd never met someone who couldn't hear before. "Are there others like her?"

"No, but there's a sixth year prefect in Hufflepuff who's blind. And the oldest prefect in Gryffindor is missing an arm and both legs. Not that you could tell. Nowadays, they've got Enchanted artificial limbs that are practically life-like."

"And, one two three, one two three…!"

Patil quickly took Harry's hand. They bumped into each other, trying to dance when they were unprepared to. Harry felt his ears heat for being so clumsy, while Patil laughed lightly at their blunderings. Once they had settled into a rhythm, she quietly spoke about how her father had first taught her and her sister to dance at a wedding. When she finished her story, she whispered, "To be honest, I only signed up for a chance to dance with you." She smiled impishly as he lifted her.

"How did that get out? I didn't tell anyone." And he very much doubted either Wynch or the greasy-haired bastard would say a word.

Her dark brown eyebrows rose. "Dennis announced it at the last Pleasant Pals meeting."

Ah, so she was a fan. "I suppose that's better than the Watch being told."

"They  _are_ … a bit psychotic," Patil said distastefully.

Harry chuckled. "A bit? I suspect that they're the reason why my quills have begun disappearing. I've had to Owl Order Self-Inking quills from Pennyworth's already."

"At least they've been foiling the DWP," she said offhandedly. "Not even the Pleasant Pals can be everywhere."

"DWP?"

"That Down With Potter club."

"They've revived that?" Harry knew he shouldn't be surprised. If there were those out there who were desperately in love with him without knowing him, then it was equally likely that the opposite was true as well.

"It's Finnigan's group. It's fairly small and mostly made up of jealous blokes, but I've heard Lavender Brown's in it too. My sister said they've come up with half a dozen plans to catch you unawares."

Harry stifled his groan. Merlin, the Gryffindor would never let his grudge go. He lifted and then set Patil down, continuing their dance.

"George and Fred weren't happy to hear that the DWP's become active again. Their group's the whole reason why the QuadP—what we Pleasant Pals call our organization—exists. We'll foul any plans before they're implemented, and if they make it past us your Watch will take care of the rest."

"I rather think that a fan club consisting of stalkers was more dangerous."

"The Potterheads keep an eye on them."

"And who keeps an eye on the Potterheads?"

"The DWP."

"That's not reassuring, Patil."

She simply smiled. When the music had finished, she said, "Thanks for the dance, Potter." Then she set off to dance with Michael Corner without a backward glance.

Harry danced with two others, Susan Bones, who nearly dragged him across the floor when her pace was faster than was needed, and fifth-year Freya Pennyworth, who would have tromped all over his toes if Harry hadn't seen the way her previous partner was limping.

Afterwards, the curly-haired Pennyworth asked Harry to the Yule Ball. Harry was so taken aback that he said 'no' a mite quickly without explanation. The teen had walked away looking rather hurt. He was surprised that she hadn't known he already had a date. Not a moment later, a third-year Hufflepuff approached; this time, Harry politely declined telling the member of the Watch that he already had a date.

"With who?" Lenora Bastille asked with wide eyes, curling a finger in her blond hair. "I didn't hear that you'd already been taken…"

"Tracey Davis," Harry told her.

" _Oh!_ " She gasped and then ran off to join her friends, who began to giggle in that persistent manner which Harry found quite annoying. At the end of the lesson, Professor McGonagall told him that he need not come back for lessons, unless he wanted the practice, and would tell his Head of House that his dancing skills were bounds greater than most fifth years. Harry couldn't help the smug grin at that.

Fortunately, they were in the last two weeks of the term. Gossip about the Yule Ball was everywhere. Some of the teachers gave up trying to teach when their students' minds were so clearly elsewhere, and by some Harry meant just four: Professors Flitwick, Sinistra, Sprout, and Hagrid. All the others were not so generous and kept them working until the very last second of their classes. Nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns from plowing on through his notes on goblin rebellions. Professors Babbling and McGonagall assigned reading, while Professor Vector gave them problem sets to keep them sharp over the break for the next school term.

Ms. Oke made Harry practice a hexing drill against a group of animated puppets, which was actually quite fun. He practiced both offensive and defensive spellwork, and made several attempts at nonverbal magic to no avail. Mentally calculating out the parabolic equations necessary for a simple summoning spell was much harder than it looked. He had to mentally gauge the length between two points, which seemed pretty impossible to begin with.

Friday nights were grueling since Harry would cram whatever was left of the Salem Institute's class work into three hours of time. Anything he finished in that timeframe was probably not his best work. Of those, the easiest was the Enchantments class, which was roughly equivalent to Charms except with slightly different spells and fewer essays to write-up. So-called 'American Magical History' only covered the history of the United States from its inception as a colony to present-day, omitting the history of the Native Magic Users or any other country of the Americas. It was the class that Harry liked least; his essays had received fair marks despite lampooning nationalistic propaganda which a little bit of outside reading had revealed. Once when he was pressed for time, he simply regurgitated the information; when he received top marks for it, he grew angry. For all its innovative teaching methods, the Salem Institute rewarded lazy thinkers. If that was how it was going to be, he'd settle for passing marks.

And then there was Snape. The Potions Master would no sooner let them play games in class than allow Neville to brew a potion without close supervision. Staring nastily around at them all, he informed them that he would give them a test on poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term. Harry stifled the groan. None of the other teachers were testing them before break. It was probably out of spite that the bastard did it.

Well, Harry wasn't going to study for it. The thrice-a-week detention always gave ample practice for brewing. Each of those nights, Harry stirred various potions, some of which he had never heard of before, and the level of complexity was increasing. Most brewing instructions now required specific stirring motions for minutes at a time. An extra helper was placed by Harry's side to add the proper ingredients to the massive cauldron at the right moments by Harry's command; sometimes it was Lucian Bole, other times Peregrine Derrick. Always the Potions Master would double-check the final product before allowing Mafalda Jurgens—the student in charge of managing the temperature—to pour the potion into its awaiting vessel. So far, the greasy-haired git had yet to reject anything Harry had created, while others' potions had been scrapped. They were demoted to the drudgery of sorting and weighing.

And Yaxley, well, that had been an interesting 'conversation'. Since witches were probably more leery of the fifth year, Harry had asked Sally-Anne if she'd heard any nasty rumors. Not as hesitant as Tracey, his friend fiercely spoke of the power Yaxley's father had—how he had escaped Azkaban by claiming mind control— how Geoffrey had a habit of sending marriage proposals to beautiful Muggle-born or Half-blood witches, only to throw Bundimun acid on them when they refused. That of the three attacks, one had been permanently blinded before Harry's third year began, a Hufflepuff prefect by the name of Yasmin Zaraaf.

"And  _that_  is  _no rumor_. You could ask anyone from Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. The only Slytherin they have an axe to grind against is  _him_ ," Sally-Anne had said while Theodore nodded. "Yaxley must've sent a third of Hufflepuff to the Hospital Wing by now."

"The Ravenclaws haven't tried anything?"

Her eyes had gleamed. "They're routing out his weaknesses. They're not stupid enough to attack him head-on. Yaxley's knowledge of the Dark Arts is top notch."

Harry had thanked her for the information, feeling the rage in his chest and face. Geoffrey Yaxley needed more than a measly 'honor fight' to deter him from hurting others for his own sick games. Alerting his two friends to what he was up to, Harry was surprised that they didn't try to talk him out of it.

"If you can stop him, then do it," Theodore said grimly, Sally-Anne giving a short nod, and that was the end of that.

They did some reconnaissance. Harry needed a where and a when, so he could avoid interfering professors. Once Sally-Anne had collected the needed information, they scouted the perfect spot.

"You'll need us as back-up." Theodore said as he pointed out the alcoves in the corridor not far from the Ancient Runes classroom. "We'll hide until you need our assistance. Otherwise, we won't interfere." It was the perfect setting since there weren't any paintings around either.

Harry nodded, while Sally-Anne checked the space behind the plinth holding the bust of a long-dead wizard.

According to a fifth-year Ravenclaw by the name of Marietta Edgecombe, Sourav Kartik had opted to take Independent Potions instead of Ancient Runes, which was why Harry and his friends had chosen their location. Cameron Boyle was a sixth year and shared classes with neither of the wizards. The three often met up in the usual places students congregated: the Great Hall, the library, the courtyard, and the common room. Obviously sticking to those hotspots after the fight with Yaxley would reduce the likelihood of debilitating curses thrown in their direction. Harmless hexes and curses would be a given.

A few days later, a week earlier than the plan he'd agree to with his friends, Harry approached the taller, broad-shouldered fifth year, who'd just left the Study of Ancient Runes classroom. Harry sensed when the soul-shard's tendrils settled. Just this once, he felt justified in letting his rage boil over. "Yaxley? A moment, please," he said with a cordial tone, smiling lightly.

Yaxley gave him a startled look. "Yes, champion?" Then a genuine, handsome smile settled over his features.

"I'd like to speak with you… in private."

Yaxley's head tilted curiously, and then he glanced around with a slight frown. He nodded and followed Harry to a less populated corridor. Urquhart and Prefect Brunt gave Harry and Yaxley a passing glance as they headed to the stairwell which would take them to the Slytherin Dungeons.

Harry silently drew in breath. Images of how he would etch misfortune into each of Yaxley's unblemished cheeks flickered through his mind.  ** _Let him suffer_** , a piece of Voldemort's soul whispered. Harry closed his eyes, holding his conscience as a barrier between him and it. He hadn't wanted to scare Theodore and Sally-Anne by what he was about to do.

The Lionsnakes were drawn to lethal intent. Harry could hear them hissing softly that he ought to stop before they incapacitated him. Yaxley glanced around with an unsettled expression as if he couldn't quite make out the noise. "What did you wish to discuss?"

Harry didn't miss how Yaxley's pale fingers touched the hilt of his wand as his eyes darted around. "As I understand it, you have a low tolerance for beauty."

Yaxley blinked. "Pardon?" He asked his attention, once again, on Harry.

"What you've done to Tracey Davis, the way you bother her, is wrong."

"I … what? Wait, Tracey is in your year isn't she?" The fifth year took a deep breath. "Right, I really should have seen this coming." Yaxley held up his hands. "Before you lay into me,  _what_  did she tell you?"

So unexpected was the lack of foulness that Harry stared at him. Yaxley's expression was only one of concern.

After a moment, the fifth year leaned closer, mistaking Harry's nonplussed manner for an open ear. "You're not the first she's hoodwinked. To be honest, I'm surprised Professor Snape hasn't warned you. She has a habit of it. Twisting boys around her fingers, that is."

It hadn't been only Tracey saying these things, but Harry thought it best to not say that. He was a bit curious as to what he could possibly want to say.

Catching Harry's unsettled gaze, Yaxley said, "Potter, I'm not entirely sure how to tell you this."

"Give it a go," Harry said neutrally.

"If you've got your sights set on her, don't trouble yourself. She's only going to use you. She's a Half-blood  _and_  illegitimate, so it makes sense she'd try to marry up. That's how she did it with me."

It was quite strange hearing this from his housemate as if Tracey had done wrong. "Why was it a good idea to throw acid on her?"

Yaxley frowned, patting his chest. "Why would I do that? Why would I deliberately draw suspicion and ill will to myself? I'm sixteen at the age where I have to find a good witch to marry and now none will so much as look my way!" His cheeks colored for the first time in anger, but he took a calming breath. "I'm not going to bother denying it because she has your ear, not me. But think about it, why would I do that? To my family?"

That gave Harry pause. It didn't make much sense to throw acid on someone, and Tracey wouldn't have done that to herself. Or would she?

 ** _Plant the seeds of doubt and watch them grow_** , the darkness murmured. It was only then that Harry recognized Yaxley's tactics, and Geoffrey Yaxley was by far more convincing than his Muggle relatives. If Harry hadn't known Tracey, he might have bought it the moment Yaxley began his act. Perhaps this was how he had poisoned Draco's already-biased mind? Harry took a breath, even though he'd rather curse his housemate. "Brilliant. I can see that she's in the wrong here. I almost took her to the Yule Ball too." He forced a smile, and the rage helped make it look convincing. "So, she doused herself with acid… to get at you?"

Yaxley smiled with deep satisfaction and approval. "Of course she didn't. She's far too vain to do something that stupid." He shifted to look around to make sure there were no witnesses before leaning towards Harry. "Obviously I had to do something to warn others. She was quick and easy, so there's really only one conclusion there—"

"You threw acid on her to scare others away from courting her," Harry said flatly. "I can only imagine that that's why the Wizengamot made your family pay for her dowry."

A palpable wince flickered through Yaxley's posture. "I can afford her dowry. Others can't… Glad she refused the marriage proposal. I nearly married a witch whose sweet and delicate manners were a ploy to win my affections," he said bitterly. "She professed to like me one moment and the next barely gave me a second glance." The laugh was nervous. "It's common, you know. Witches of no worth seducing their way into our ranks." He shrugged. "Use them for what they're worth and then move on."

 _Use them for what they're worth?_ Something snapped inside of Harry, and the soul-shard roiled, fury echoing back. Darkness hummed through Harry's mind, peering out and meeting Yaxley's gaze. "I don't believe you," Harry said, feeling odd at the tone of cold regret falling from his lips. "We could have been allies, but you have little understanding of  **worth**."

"Suit yourself." Yaxley frowned, the only concern he had at the change in Harry. "I've got to get to lunch. My friends are waiting." He turned to walk away, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder.

"Yes, how considerate of you not to keep them waiting." Harry's wand snapped up. A voice screamed,  _Shite! At least give warning before you curse someone's back like a weak coward!_  Harry's lips pulled into a smile. "You might not want to turn your back on me."

The older Slytherin spun around and threw a spell, and that was deflected with a nonverbal Shield Charm. Harry's head cocked slightly to side, the rage boiling unseen, as his eyes traveled over his housemate. Harry grabbed back the delicate control, hanging onto it by the tips of his fingers. He knew this was dangerous territory, but he had to finish; he couldn't run off now that he'd started. His feet moved smoothly as he tapped his wand against his ear. "Now… What to do with you, hm?" Harry could smell the stink of fear.  ** _Fear is good, predictable_ ,** the voice hissed.  ** _First, threats are flung. When that fails, denial sets in..._**

Yaxley shifted his feet in a dueling stance, wand high. "If you try  _anything_ , Potter. My dad—"

 _No!_ Harry screamed noiselessly _,_ when his hold slipped. "Your  ** _father_**  isn't here." In a flash, Yaxley was disarmed and the next moment his wand was pressed to Yaxley's chest. The fifth year's wide eyes and flaring nostrils accentuated his panicked breath. The darkness shivered with excitement. "Let me give you a little advice, child. Own yourself. If you spend your energy acting persecuted, you will be stepped on like a worm by those hungrier and greedier than you."

_How is that good advice?! You're encouraging him!_

A tic pulled at Harry's face. **"** Pity," the soul-shard sighed out when it sensed a presence behind him. A hiss slithered out, syllables dancing effortlessly from Harry's tongue, " _This vermin has harmed three in the past two years, all students of this school. Surely you will allow my vengeance on their behalf?"_

 _"We will prevent any further attacks in the future on our territory._ " It was sensible that it was the Matriarch that respond. He did hate waiting for answers.

" _He blinded a student of Hogwarts! Does that mean **naught**?" _ Harry's body turned. Harry knew the soul-shard could sense that he was lying in wait, patient for an opening.

Still cloaked with magic, the outline of the Lionsnake Matriarch stood poised over him.  _"Should you harm him, Sire, I will be forced to protect him."_

Well, that changed his plans. He had no desire to waste time recovering from preventable injuries. There was a spitting noise, a warning, and Harry's eyes flicked to his fellow Slytherin.

While his attention had been elsewhere, the pissant had gathered his wand. Its tip betrayed Yaxley's state of mind; despite being pointed at Harry, it shook violently. "I'm warning you. If you try anything…"

"You'll do…  ** _what_**?"

The moment Yaxley's wand moved, Harry's wand was jabbed in an arc. Yaxley was thrown back against the stone wall and air left him in a rush. Harry's feet carried him to the helpless worm. "Sorry, but I couldn't hear you over the sound of your lungs emptying."

A klacking noise filled the halls when the fight escalated, and those Ravenclaws who had been brave enough to watch at a remote distance now fled, stumbling over one another like panicked livestock. Yaxley was dropped like a sack of flour, gasping for breath. Reveling in the chaos, an evil grin pulled at Harry's lips and then his hands rose, showing that he had holstered his wand. "Go on, Geoffrey. I'm defenseless, just the way you like your  **prey**."

Getting to his feet, the wizard trembled as sweat dripped down his face. Gone was the mask of undeserved confidence. "What a horrible thing to say! They weren't prey or victims; they got off in the end." Yaxley's laughter was high and scratchy, his eyes roving in alarm. "They deny me because they've lost face!"

 _Got off?_ The boy's voice quivered.  _But Tracey still thinks the chase is on..._

"No," it whispered with Harry's lips, bloodlust swimming in his veins. "They deny you because of falsehoods. You have a monster, Yaxley, a creature of cruelty waiting to burst from within, but you're holding it back. You can't win a willing bride with poisoned honey." The scar burned as the words dribbled out of him. "There are ladies willing to consent to such arrangements. But are you worthy for them?"

There was a sparking of magic in the air that could be tasted when breathed in deeply enough. The worm had refocused his anger on him. Only a push more will do it.

_Are you goading him?_

The strategy was only one of many, yet it was strange that this boy who had read Sun Tzu had not grasped its deeper meanings. It laughed with Harry's mouth. "Why don't you loosen that self-made noose around your neck? Right now your pride is smarting because a  _Half-Breed_  just demonstrated more skill than  **you**."

Without a sound, Geoffrey's wand slashed forward with the spell of blistering heat. Harry's body made no move to defend himself, and a solitary quill lodged itself in Yaxley's belly breaking the gathered magic. The older Slytherin's eyes popped open as they looked past Harry at the great Lionsnake hovered over his shoulder. A low whimper sounded from Yaxley as he fell onto his side.

" _You've a streak for dramatics, Lucy. I admire that_ ," the praise slipped out, but the Matriarch's head-crest showed no sign of preening from the compliment.

 _She knows something odd's afoot,_  the weak boy said.

 ** _Soon, no one will know the_** _**difference**_ , it said.

When Harry's fingers reached up and stroked Lucy's chin, Harry shoved the soul-shard away. It put up quite a fight as they tussled for inner dominance. When he succeeded in returning it to its corner, the coils of darkness grew more violent and insistent— ** _Show him no mercy. Isn't that what you want?_** —but Harry did not oblige it. He came back to awareness leaning against a stone wall. He had to catch his breath; he was both tired and  _freezing_. His teeth would have chattered had he not kept his jaw clenched. Fortunately, the cold passed in a few seconds.

" _Sire, are you well?_ "

" _Yes, Lucy. Sorry about that._ " Harry looked around to see who was left to witness. The students were gone, and Harry was handily alone with Yaxley.  ** _So weak and defenseless_** , it whispered. The Quadwizard champion clucked. A few small steps carried him forward, and Harry loomed over the prone form. He needed to convince this disgusting pissant that throwing acid on others was never alright. Harry also suspected that the older student was adept at Obliviation, too. Why else would Tracey's parents have agreed to let their daughter's memories be extracted if they hadn't been tampered with before? "You shouldn't have tried to attack me. Now you're paralyzed… and we're the only ones here." Harry tapped a finger against his lip as Yaxley's irises twitched in response. Good, for a moment Harry had worried Yaxley was dead. "So, what shall I do until someone arrives?"  ** _Place a memory charm. Wouldn't want... misunderstandings._**  "Oh, and I'd wipe your memory afterwards. Then you'd remember nothing beyond the incoherent slivers I missed. It's no less than what you've done to them. To Tracey Davis, Yasmin Zaraaf, and Beatrice Honeywell."

The stark look of horror on Yaxley's face had Harry smirking. Even if the Lionsnakes prevented him from doing anything truly dangerous, tormenting the spineless worm would be  _fun._ But what to do? So many options, so little time. Obviously, the Unforgivables were out—

"'Ello, Harry!"

The soul-shard recoiled from the cracks it had crept in from, leaving Harry blinking stupidly up at a young woman with shocking pink hair. Beside her stood two others also wearing open-style dueling robes: a dark-skinned dwarf with throwing knives holstered along her limbs and a lean human with a severe expression accentuated by the jagged, horizontal scar that had sliced through her olive-skinned nose ages ago.

"Hi… Er…" Harry rose from his crouch, feeling queasy. He forced his thoughts towards present matters. He remembered the woman with pink hair. She'd been nice enough to volunteer to collect Neville when Black had been a perceived threat, but for the life of Harry he couldn't remember her name. "Miss...?"

"Tonks. No 'Miss', just Tonks." Then the pale-skinned witch gestured to Yaxley. "What happened to your friend?"

"Um, he tried to attack me," Harry managed through his suddenly dry mouth. "He's like that because the Lionsnakes paralyzed him. He almost sent off an Incineration Curse before they put a stop to it."

Exchanging a knowing glance with Tonks, the scarred witch whistled sharply. "Not a friend, then." She pulled out her wand and conjured a stretcher, levitating the wide-eyed fifth year onto it. Harry smothered the impulse to send covert glances of intimidation at Yaxley. His scar burned in complaint. Harry didn't think it'd be smart to do that right under the noses of Aurors, not to mention that what he'd done was enough. He wasn't a bully and he certainly wouldn't give an opening for  _it_ to slink into.

"Isn't that Yaxley's brat?" The shortest said, stepping next to the stretcher. The other two surrounded the prone form, staring down at the unblinking fifth year.

"Yes," Harry answered, his shoulders tensing. What if they suspected him…?

"I remember him, and none of it was good," Tonks said.

"I saw the reports. He recently assaulted another last summer. I overheard his father complaining about how much he'd had to pay out this time. I think he's lucky his son hasn't been lynched or packed off to Azkaban," the scarred witch said. She had a look as if she wanted to rearrange Yaxley's face while he was at her mercy. Harry halfway hoped she would to save him the trouble.

"Proudfoot, we're here to run sweeps. Let's take the lad to Poppy so we can get back to work," the dwarf said. "Tonks, stay here and explain the situation when a professor shows."

With a vicious scowl, Proudfoot stepped away, leaving in the direction of Madam Pomfrey's infirmary. The conjured stretcher obediently trailed behind her. He watched them go.

"I didn't expect you to start a fight." When Harry only looked at Tonks, she continued, "The girl he preyed on last summer, she's in your year isn't she?" Tonks was smiling too much; it made Harry uneasy.

He needed to determine her angle, what precisely she was up to. "Her name's Tracey Davis."

"Then I was right." Tonks grinned, hands on her hips. "You and her dating then?"

Down the corridor sudden movement caught Harry's eye. It was the unmistakable form of Professor Snape speeding down the empty corridor.  _Shite_ , Harry thought. "No, though she agreed to go to the Yule Ball with me."

"Ah, going as friends then? That's sweet."

The sound of robes snapping signaled that Snape was nearing. What was he doing when the Ravenclaw House—and Professor Flitwick—were closer? Harry's bemusement faded when he realized that the Ravenclaws might not have informed the diminutive Charms professor while Harry exacted revenge on their behalf. T _hen… why was Snape heading this way? Who could've—ah, Prefect Brunt_ , Harry's mind reasoned. He'd seen the prefect with Urquhart before his 'chat' with Yaxley. Maybe when Yaxley didn't show, his friends worried… But why hadn't the bastard sent a prefect to investigate?

"Professor Snape, hello." Tonks bowed slightly as her hair changed from pink to bright purple. "Me and my companions were running a sweep of the area until we came across a pack of tight-lipped students vacating this corridor. We thought it was suspicious so we took a little detour. The Lionsnakes were about, so we knew it was serious. Seems a Geoffrey Yaxley was paralyzed in his encounter with Harry here. Savage and Proudfoot are taking him to Poppy."

"Your interception is appreciated, Auror." Black eyes pinned Harry in place. "How serendipitous that I delivered the first batch of antidote yesterday..."

Harry scowled. That was a flat-out coincidence, but he kept his mouth shut. Arguing the point only ever made things worse with his Head of House.

"Have anything to say, Potter? I doubt Yaxley would have used lethal force had you not threatened him in some way."

Ignoring the worried look sent by Auror Tonks, Harry looked defiantly at the Potions Master. "I told him that attacking others wasn't right. He didn't like that and tried to incinerate a vital organ or two, so the Lionsnakes stepped in." He completely glossed over some key points, but as far as Harry was concerned  _he_ wasn't responsible for the twisted advice.

"An honor fight?" Tonks offered, sounding a bit impressed.

"He  _is_  his father's son," Snape scoffed and waved a negligent hand. "Auror, since you have this well in hand, please escort Potter to lunch as it is imperative that I return to my work."

When no punishment was forthcoming, Harry frowned. "Sir?"

His Head of House turned to sneer. "Potter, if I took any more time away from your studies, you'd have to repeat the year. Merlin, help us if you stay any longer than necessary." And then after directing a sharp look at the Auror, the greasy-haired git hurried away.

Harry watched until the black robes had turned a corner. A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he jerked away.

Tonks gave him an apologetic smile. "You're jumpy, eh?"

"Out of necessity." Her eyes drew down to his right side, which made Harry realize that he was holding his wand. He quickly put it away. "Sorry."

"Being vigilant is the first step to being battle-ready," she said. The Auror looked around, eyes scanning. Her hair flamed pink again. "Well then, come on. I'm half-starved."

As Harry followed, it whispered,  ** _That worm won't stop if you give him only intimidation_.**

 _Shut up,_ Harry ordered, batting it away from his mind. He imagined a wall between them and that seemed to help. Harry's mind ruminated on another measure that would ensure that Yaxley vitally understood how untenable it would be to continue his pattern of behavior…

"You know what an Auror does?"

"Yes. You catch Dark Wizards. I heard my dad and Neville's parents were Aurors."

Auror Tonks nodded. "We're a highly specialized group. With reflexes like yours, you wouldn't be half-bad as a Trainee. It took me fourteen months to get twitchy."

The corridors were less deserted as they swept into a main artery. Numerous Ravenclaws stopped talking and stared when Harry passed. He hoped Auror Tonks didn't notice. "...I heard some Aurors were called back from Georgia?"

She blinked. "That wasn't public knowledge."

"I swear I haven't told anybody about it," he said with a sheepish grin. "I have a tendency to collect secrets."

"Then you know who went missing there. She was last spotted in the vicinity before a Muggle caught sight of her in London." At Harry's puzzled look, she explained, "Muggles outnumber us, but being segregated makes people forget that those without magic can be a valuable source of information. Muggles see and hear even if they don't believe in magic. Sure they can be made to ignore things with the right touch of magic, but criminals are only human. It takes the very smart and lucky to evade us."

"Like You-Know-Who."

"Right. So, how it works... the Ministry informs the Muggle government about dangerous individuals. Those names and photos get reported and then any sightings are phoned in."

"You know how a phone works?"

She gave him a pointed look.

"Sorry. It sticks out when someone really  _knows_  about Muggle technology."

The auror chuckled. "'Course I know. My dad's a Muggle-born. If I talked about using a  _telly-fon_ , he'd never let me hear the end of it."

The two came into the Entrance Hall. Harry drew himself up when he saw Sally-Anne and Theodore waiting by the double doors.  _Shite_ , Harry thought. They were looking at him expectantly, as if awaiting a carefully crafted explanation that they knew Harry didn't have.

"Ah, seems your friends are waiting," Auror Tonks said with a wink. "I'll see you around, Harry!" She had a bounce to her step as she went into the Great Hall.

Harry took a deep breath. "Er, I know what you're going to say," he began. His friends stared at him. Harry wondered if they meant to be so unnerving. "I-I know you must be angry…"

Unable to hold it back, Sally-Anne chortled. It was Harry's turn to stare.

She stifled it with a hand. "No, don't stop. Do go on, Harry. Since you obviously  _know_  us so well."

"Er…" Why weren't they ticked off? His mind blanked on an answer. He hadn't lied outright, but he had deceived them. Harry would have been angry if they had done so to him because it meant they wouldn't have trusted him to hold his own. "You're not mad?"

"We only have ourselves to blame," Theodore said sweetly. "Should've expected it from you when you're set on improving your slyness." The werewolf crossed his arms. "Let me take a jab at your motivation: You didn't want us in the way where we might get hurt. Right?"

Harry nodded, looking between them. He wouldn't have wanted them to see if things had gotten messy between Yaxley and him.

Sally-Anne snorted as if she found his selflessness silly, but she didn't know the evil embedded within Harry. He didn't know how he should break it to them; he preferred the one that wouldn't send them running. "When we heard Kartik ask Boyle where Yaxley had gone off to, we knew you'd moved the plan up. So we tapped Wynch, let him know what you intended…"

Harry's chest clenched painfully. They'd only done it out of worry and had betrayed nothing beyond his location. Otherwise, Snape wouldn't have let him off so easily. "…And Wynch told Snape," Harry finished.

"Exactly," Sally-Anne said.

Theodore nodded. "Should've listened when your wording of the promise was a bit off. Lesson learned, and we know better now. No hard feelings?"

Harry blinked at them. Why would he be angry at them for that? "No…"

"Did Snape extend your detention?" Sally-Anne asked.

At a loss for words, Harry shook his head.

"Fantastic!" Theodore clapped his hands together. "Just as we hoped would happen… You were thorough, weren't you? Wouldn't want the pillock to think you were easy game."

"It won't be me he'll be after when he comes. It'll be you two," Harry said, giving them each a pronounced look. They'd seen his duel with Snape; they understood why Yaxley would aim for Harry's weak spots.

"Probably me, moreso," Sally-Anne corrected. "Theo's apprenticeship is hardly what you'd call predictable. Sometimes he's gone weeks; others only days."

The thought of Yaxley catching Sally-Anne unawares pulled Harry under a tidal wave of fury. He felt darkness clawing, trying to take root. "Be careful," he said in a strained rush. Theodore glanced at him worriedly. Harry hoped his wan grin was enough to reassure him.

A smirk slid across her face. "It's him who should be careful. Grandma Valeria taught me a few curses that would be fitting for the likes of  _him_. Very fitting."

Theodore swallowed thickly as he glanced nervously at Sally-Anne. "Don't tell me she taught you…  _those_."

"You've nothing to fear." she said, cupping Theodore's chin, and then lightly danced fingers down his neck. "You respect me and the others."

"Darling, when a witch declares she's got the power to chop it off, it's perfectly understandable if her boyfriend isn't immediately alright with it."

Grinning, Sally-Anne hugged him. His smile unseen by her, Theodore nuzzled a cheek against the side of her head.

Harry looked at the two. Even though they made the odd couple, he realized that what he was feeling was happiness for them. No… more than that. Warmth and tender joy suffused through him, shoring up his defenses against the bit of Voldemort within him. Somehow they'd crept into his heart when he hadn't noticed and become truer friends than he'd expected. He turned away, hoping they hadn't seen the revelation on his face. "Well, come on then! Let's go eat," Harry said with a sidelong glance.

The two exchanged a happy look and sidled next to him. It was a natural maneuver, but instead of feeling hemmed in Harry felt secure.

He hoped that their friendship wasn't short-lived.


	13. Yuletide Festivity

If Harry had expected anything, it wouldn't have been for Yaxley and company to do nothing. They went about their business whenever they passed, sparing not even a glare in the fourth years' direction. Suspicious, Harry had even been more careful not believing for a second that they weren't plotting something, so he escorted Theodore when he could. Harry wanted to be sure that his friend was safe, since Theodore had cast little to no magic until he'd contracted Lycanthropy and was absent frequently enough to be a bit behind in every class even with Sally-Anne's tutoring. Harry wasn't as worried about himself; he had no doubt that if bodily threatened the soul-shard would protect him as it had done with Professor Moody. If not for Lucy and the other lionsnakes, the bit of Voldemort would've made Yaxley regret ever crossing him.

Unfortunately, it grew more active. It was satisfied with mere whispers during social interactions in an attempt to manipulate Harry into petty power plays—which it assured Harry it would win—but also after Transfigurations lessons had moved back to Conjuring. In his free time, Harry finished devouring the book on Chaos Theory, but it had only helped a tiny bit.  _Better than making it worse_ , Harry thought bitterly. After several attempts of Conjuring a quill, he had only managed a hollow stem without any vanes. When the stern witch had called for their work to be turned in, Harry had Transfigured it to sprout the feathering and sharpened the point after he'd checked that no one else was looking. Regardless, Professor McGonagall had known what he'd done upon inspection of the gloriously complex quill. Instead of docking points, she assigned even more supplemental reading.

When his shoulders wilted, Professor McGonagall said, "It will do you good. It isn't ability that you lack, Mr. Potter, but a finer understanding of Conjuration. Once you grasp that, you will find this lesson much easier." This didn't raise his spirits as she had expected for she frowned lightly. Not realizing how much he disliked casual contact from acquaintances, the old witch patted his hand, which he'd rested on her desk. "I'm certain you'll manage it. Your father was brilliant at Transfigurations, one of my best students. And you aren't the first to have difficulty with creating things out of air. It's a peculiarity shared by most Muggle-borns."

"Right," Harry muttered. Normally he had confidence in spades when it came to magic, but the longer he struggled with Transfigurations the more he'd grown disheartened. He turned away, shouldering his bookbag, and caught sight of Draco and Sally-Anne continually Conjuring quills. Even though class was over, it was obvious that they were trying to outdo one another by making ever more fanciful quills, some so outrageous that even Skeeter would give pause at using them. The stern professor put a stop to it with a gentle reprimand about getting to dinner and casually Vanished the luxurious, colorful quills with a flick of her wand.

Harry left the classroom with Sally-Anne and Theodore as they chatted. The upcoming Potions exam was tomorrow and they had wanted to study one last time. Theodore kept glancing at him and Harry knew it was because he hadn't gone to the other three study sessions that they'd arranged. Dumbledore himself had said Harry was exemplary at Potions; why did he need to bother studying for it? No, Harry was much more anxious about Transfigurations. If he was going to exert himself anywhere it would be with that class. His mind went back to Conjuration and the insurmountable amount of work and effort he applied with very little result.

 ** _You can't expect it to work when you don't believe it will_** , the voice sneered.

Harry startled, looking over his shoulder. After he murmured a Warming Charm, the spell had no effect on the chill at the base of his neck. The soul-shard's assertion was ridiculous. It was magic. Of course, Harry believed it could work. To muffle anything else it might say to him, Harry cloaked himself with the knowledge that his friends truly cared about him. The expected joy arose, warming him. He had to force any thoughts about losing them away since that only provided the soul-shard with cracks to reach through.

Besides the occasional comment, the soul-shard was largely content to allow Harry his freedom. He didn't buy its well-behaved act, remembering how fiercely it fought to stay surfaced and how it acted as if its eventual control wouldn't be noticed. Harry thought the latter was ridiculous; the only one who wouldn't be able to tell would be Draco because the prat admired the soul-shard's skill with the Dark Arts and hoped Harry would rise as a new Dark Lord…

Perhaps Harry had grown more aware of witches with the coming ball, but it was unmistakable whenever Yaxley passed the familiar way groups of them would cluster with glares of suspicion and distrust as if he carried a contagion. It was more an indication of Harry's self-absorbed thoughts that year that he had missed such obvious signs. For his brutality, Yaxley had become a Pariah.

At last, Harry was eager for the final lesson of the term to begin as he and the other fourth years—Gryffindors and Slytherins—sat in the Great Hall. They were given their Potions test, which to Harry's displeasure covered much more than antidotes. Professor Snape roamed from one end of the long table where their Potions class sat to the other. Many other students were taking a study period there and didn't dare complain when the Potions Master asked for their complete silence.

About an hour later, Harry was studiously filling out the parchment of his test without any of his housemates nearby. Draco had obviously helped Crabbe and Goyle cheat somehow; they had finished early and left the Great Hall. Sally-Anne and Theodore hadn't been long to follow. Neither of them had as much aptitude with Potions, so Harry thought their studying must have paid off. Neville had also left; though, it was obvious by the slant of his shoulders that he'd failed the exam.

Harry had overestimated his Potions knowledge. With his friends distracted with study sessions, he had opted to neglect his studies to use the time to brew a set of potions, ones that were not strictly above board. After he'd researched what potions would be best suited to his needs, he appropriated the needed ingredients from the numerous prepping stations during detention. The sleight of hand Harry had learned to steal table scraps with the Dursleys was surprisingly well applied for this task.

In a little used bathroom in the dungeons, he had brewed; little used because a fair amount of Lionsnakes had taken residence in it due to its close proximity to the Potions classroom and the Slytherin Dungeons. They weren't troubled at all by his command to keep others out of the bathroom during the week-long brew period—he had planned it perfectly so that the three stirring days landed during study or free periods. Once it was done he'd had two vials stoppered and ready for the Yule Ball. He had been careful in the clean-up, using neutralizing compounds to obliterate any indication of what he'd done.

"At this rate, Neville and I'll be the only ones without dates," Ron whinged to Hermione, drawing Harry from his thoughts.

Staring up at the Enchanted ceiling, Harry chewed on the end of his quill as he tried to remember the sequence of stirs to wait time for a Pepper-Up Potion.

"It might interest you to know that Neville's already got someone," Hermione whispered to Ron.

The Gryffindor sighed in disappointment. "Now I'm  _really_  depressed." Curiously, a Charmed piece of parchment floated towards the redhead from a clutch of sixth-year Gryffindors, and he snatched it out of the air to read.

Harry continued jotting down answers, dredging up rather obscure information that he picked up during detention. He rolled the parchment up to move to the next section, sensing Professor Snape prowling behind them. Bloody bastard had passed no less than ten times already. It was just a bloody mid-year exam.

Even though it was difficult, Harry didn't deign to look at Hermione's test parchment when he could manage fine on his own. She probably hadn't finished because she tended to provide more information than necessary. Harry was surprised that the greasy-haired bastard had yet to dock points for her essay-length answers to short-answer questions. Perhaps the bastard was secretly delighted that a student was so enthralled with Potions knowledge, even while publicly ridiculing her for being an insufferable know-it-all. Harry had personally been on the receiving end of Snape's two-faced behavior, so it wouldn't shock him at all if that were the case.

"Who're you going with then?" Ron suddenly whispered across the aisle at his brothers. A spark of annoyance shot through Harry's mind, when Snape ignored the chattiness on his pass behind Harry. A moment later, Ron swiveled towards his fellow Gryffindor. "Hey, Hermione. You're a girl."

Harry looked up at the Gryffindor with a bemused look. Stating the obvious was a sure sign that the Weasley was about to insert his foot into his mouth. A shadow fell over Harry, and he immediately looked back down to pen in his answer.  _Golpalott's Third Law states that—_

"Very well-spotted," Hermione murmured with a sharp tone, and then a book swatted all three of them on the head. They let out near simultaneous noises in varying volumes.

Harry shot an outraged look at Professor Snape, and the wizard simply looked down his nose. Harry decided that he'd rather go back to filling in answers, thank you. Snape walked away after an uncomfortable amount of time staring at them.

"Come on," Ron whispered once the Potions Master was near the end of the long table. "It's one thing for a bloke to show up alone but for a girl it's just sad."

Surreptitiously, Harry shifted and stomped a foot on top of Ron's.

"OW!"

Harry slid away to avoid getting cobbed. Then his shin was narrowly missed by the bottom of a shoe. Sliding down the table and bench a bit more, Harry slowly swung his leg, reminded of the times he'd been allowed to sit at the Dursleys table while Dudley tried to kick him. As if nothing had happened, Harry continued writing the essay on the theory behind the manufacture of antidotes.

Giving up, the irate Gryffindor scowled at him. "What'd you do that for?"

Harry glanced at the profile of Hermione. She was stock-still as if she couldn't believe that Ron had said that to her. Harry could, since it wasn't the first time the Weasley had accused her without any proof. "If you can't tell, we have an exam," he hissed at his test parchment. No point in bringing the obvious to attention. If he'd said it plainly, the arse would definitely assume that Harry's retaliation was a sign of his designs for Hermione, a laughable assertion.

Ron whispered loudly, "Didn't need to stomp my toes for that!" He then elbowed Harry in the side almost succeeding to shove Harry off the bench.

Nearly drawing a line of ink across his meticulously written exam, Harry snarled, "Watch it!"

As he passed, Professor Snape smacked Ron with a roll of parchment.

"He started it!" The Gryffindor growled at the table, smoothing down his hair.

The Potions Master leaned forward hissing harshly at Ron with phrases like 'holiday detention' and 'disemboweling flobberworms'. Harry could see that Ron was turning a little green the longer Snape spoke. Ron had barely written anything on his test parchment. Harry blinked at it with a frown. It looked about a foot shorter than his own…

With a nasty smile of contempt, the greasy-haired professor stalked away to berate the handful of students left taking the ridiculously hard exam.

"For your information," Hermione said, snapping to her senses once the Potions Master was at the far end of the table, "I won't be going alone because, believe it or not, someone's asked me!" She stood up and turned in her test to Professor Snape, who had materialized by their side at the yelling. Hermione then stormed back, leaning into Ron's face like Snape had done earlier after she gathered her things. "And I said  _yes_!" Her mane of hair flaring around her, Hermione walked so quickly that it was only a few blinks later that she exited the Great Hall.

"Bloody hell…" A stunned Ron muttered to himself, "She's lying. Got to be."

Harry scooted down the bench to finish writing his essay on Golpatt's Third Law without interruption. He was rather wary of the Gryffindor's friendliness. Harry hadn't forgotten that it was only a month ago that the Weasley had been best friends with Finnigan the ferret.

"Oh, come on," the redhead said lowly towards him. Apparently his comment had been for Harry, who had tried indifferent silence. "You can't seriously think she's got a date and I haven't?"

"Maybe you should ask Finnigan out; I heard he's free," Harry bit out. Ron made a choked noise. He didn't look angry like Harry expected. Rather, his hands were clapped over his mouth as if he was physically holding back laughter. Tears were leaking down his reddened face. A loud guffaw slipped out, echoing in the silence of the Great Hall.

Right then Professor Snape bore down on the both of them. "If you do not be quiet, you will have each earned a Troll on your test and  _detention_  with me after class. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said a mite faster than Ron. Harry didn't think that it would be a long detention for him, but he knew better than to believe that Snape's threat was toothless. Once the adult moved away, Harry spent the rest of the class period ignoring the Gryffindor, who bemoaned his luck about finding a date. Harry had zero sympathy for the teen who'd procrastinated too long.

Twenty-five minutes later, Harry let out a sigh of relief. Cleaning off his quill and stoppering his inkwell, he turned in the test. He was the very last to do so and sluggishly slung his bookbag over his shoulder. He met Sally-Anne and Theodore in the corridor, who didn't ask after his difficulty with the exam, and they went to the dungeons since there was still time before dinner.

Over the next few days, the Hogwarts staff, demonstrating their continued desire to impress the foreign school delegations, went over and beyond their usual Christmas decorating. Everlasting icicles adorned the bannisters, the ceilings were draped with animated ribbons and garland, and docile fairies fluttered from one bedecked Christmas tree to another; even the armor seemed to be in the holiday spirit. The empty helmets would sing Christmas carols as Harry passed them. On a whim, he cast a Gibberish Hex on one of them and was amused when it began to follow the same jingle with something close to farting noises.

"Harry!" Sally-Anne said, laughing so hard she was nearly crying.

Theodore chuckled. "Professor Flitwick'll have a laugh trying to sort that out."

Harry grinned, happy to bring laughter to them.

Instead of working on a multitude of homework assignments, Harry spent the week leading up to Christmas enjoying himself as fully as possible. The Slytherin common room was bursting with students who'd remained for the holiday break, the only one gone being Theodore. Many of his housemates were still teasing out the solution to the riddle of the Second Task; that is, who would be taken to the bottom of Black Lake in late February. Though bets could be placed on anybody, most were on four main contenders: Hermione, Ginny, Tracey, or Luna. The popular choice at the moment was Luna, possibly because she was close to having a pure bloodline and wasn't a Gryffindor. Also no one knew exactly what Harry did with her in the Ravenclaw corridors since the duo was excellent at slipping away from any prying eyes. Of course, his housemates didn't think anything innocuous was occurring between Harry and Luna besides those who knew him best.

When Harry mentioned the current stakes to Wynch, he'd laughed. "That doesn't concern me a bit. I'm more worried about how you're going to hold your breath underwater for an hour…"

"Hold my… an  _hour?_ " Owing to the fact that Harry had so much work to finish week by week, he hadn't really thought about what sort of watery task would require meeting Merpeople. He certainly couldn't hold his breath for that amount of time. "There isn't a handy charm I can use?"

"No. Like I said, we've been researching a solution for weeks now. The most obvious option is the Bubble-Head Charm, but it's not the best solution. It's fragile underwater and wears out every fifteen minutes, so you'd need to re-cast it frequently. While we're sure you could learn to cast it above water, multitasking is a must, and that, my dear Harry, happens to be your greatest weakness."

Harry had sighed at the time. At least, there was a solution that he wouldn't have come up with.

Later, he'd received a letter from the headmaster who had written that the Polyjuiced intruder hadn't been caught yet. It'd already been a month longer than expected! What was taking them so long? Harry supposed that they wanted to catch whoever it was properly, but it didn't make him feel much better.

Whenever Harry passed by the windows, snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, blue-frosted pumpkin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. During meals, the house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews, savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

"It is too 'eavy, all ze 'Ogwarts food," Harry had heard her say grumpily as she passed with the Ravenclaw tagalongs dogging her every step. The sixth- and seventh-years were constantly tripping over themselves to impress her with flashy Charms work. Apparently Delacour had put them up to an informal contest to win the position as her date to the Yule Ball. Harry wondered why she hadn't asked anyone from Beauxbatons.

Ignoring the Charms work by the Ravenclaws, Delacour stopped by Cedric Diggory to have an animated chat. Well, until one particularly brave Gryffindor stepped in her line of sight.

"WILL YOU GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME?!" Ron Weasley shouted. Unimpressed, Delacour looked at the fourth year as if he were a piece of detritus which had gotten stuck to a priceless work of art. A mortified Ron, nearest to tears than Harry had ever seen him, ran away among the laughter of the Ravenclaws. The veela charm must have ensnared the Weasley. Harry felt a bit sorry for him.

Finding no such complaint with the food, Viktor Krum was eating quite voraciously when Harry took a seat. Krum's fellow students were intaking the food with gusto, still having the pinched look of those who'd recovered from a dreadful illness. After the Fading Flu had been eradicated from the halls of Hogwarts, they'd begun to fraternize with the Slytherins once more.

"I heard someone's taking Granger to the ball," Draco said lowly to Pansy, a few persons down from Harry, "I would've thought it was Harry if I didn't already know his date."

"Why do you care?" Pansy asked with a jealous tone, while Harry inadvertently listened as he slurped down a spoonful of stew. "Are you developing feelings for her?"

Leaning forward to grab another bread roll, Harry's eyes flickered to Draco.

Draco's face was red, likely from anger, while Krum laughed throatily. The Slytherins looked to the Bulgarian Seeker, wondering what he found so funny.

"Do not be concerned. Her-my-nee goes vith me," Krum said.

Harry's yearmates exchanged glances. Durmstrang didn't allow Muggle-borns into their school because of their high master's blood purist ideals. Did the Bulgarian Seeker not know?

" _Granger_ with  _you_?" Draco said scathingly.

"Yah, hyu hav problem?" Krum said gruffly, pinning him with a cold look.

"No. I'm surprised you would go against your high master's ideals." The prat took another bite of savory pudding. The shoulder-slouched champion glowered at Draco.

"Er, Krum," Harry began, concerned about Krum's reaction when he discovered Hermione's blood status, "What do you think of Muggle-borns?"

"Vhat about them?" The Durmstrang student turned to Harry in a threatening manner.

Harry took a deep breath. Despite both being seated, Harry had to look up to glare at him. "Hermione is one, so if you don't like that then we'll have a problem," he said. His mouth was dry. Krum wouldn't need magic to break Harry over his knee if he felt so inclined.

 ** _He would regret stooping to Muggle methods_** , the voice crooned eagerly.  ** _There are exquisite spells which would permanently bend and twist his bones without breaking them. He would live out his days crippled, unable to fly a broom..._**

 _I would have thought you'd mention nasty things about Hermione being Muggle-born_ , Harry thought. The diary certainly had bigoted views about it using the word  _Mudblood_  whenever possible.

 ** _Magic is more dynamic than anyone can conceive,_** came the algid answer.  ** _Do not underestimate its power in all forms._**

Harry remembered his friends' laughter at his prank with the suits of armor. He could feel the warmth of Sally-Anne sitting next to him, while he maintained eye contact with the hulking Durmstrang student. The voice faded to a pinprick of irritation.

Krum looked surlier the longer they exchanged glares, and everyone seemed to hold their breath. Then, the internationally acclaimed Seeker chuckled, slapping the table with a hand. "Hyu are right, Potter. I hav no problem vith Her-my-nee. Though cannot say ov High Master Karkaroff or my comrades," he growled the last bit, glaring at Poliakoff and some others who shrank back when his eyes raked over them.

So, Krum was protective of her; That's good. A sudden thought came to Harry's mind. Actually, that explained where the only fourth year caught the Fading Flu, which mostly affected sixth and seventh years. Harry thought it'd been one of the Ravenclaw Prefects, but he must've been wrong.

Just then a tiny little owl came hooting inside the Great Hall, fluttering side to side very excitedly. It showed the letter to many of the Slytherins before coming to flap energetically about Harry's head. Harry snatched the letter from the small owl, while it perched on top of his head. Draco left his seat to shoo it away, but it nestled further.

"Let it alone. You act as if that little owl's a danger to Harry," Sally-Anne said and then laughter rang around them. Draco gave her a passing glare and returned to his seat without dressing her down as he had done before.

While the owl shifted in his hair, Harry hoped his godfather's owl—which had originally been meant for Ron—would know not to leave droppings on his head. Harry opened the letter from Sirius. In uncharacteristically messy handwriting, his godfather congratulated him on successfully finishing the First Task, apologizing for the lateness of his letter. He warned Harry not to get complacent since no one had gotten caught for putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. Then, Sirius told him about the boredom of trial proceedings, how back-and-forth the questioning was, how the Judges had taken several recesses so far to ruminate on the new evidence, how a well-respected Lawspeaker was providing phenomenal defense—helped no doubt that Peter Pettigrew was very much alive and by Pettigrew's recorded confession.

Finally, Sirius explained that he only had time to jot off this note as he was being escorted to and from Azkaban. He made no mention of his unsuccessful negotiations to be held elsewhere while he awaited trial.

_If Kingsley hadn't provided the quill and parchment, I doubt I would've managed to get a word out. Don't worry. It should be over by August at the very latest, though my defense counsel believes it will be before Hogwarts lets out. I knew this would be a long process, but it's worth the wait. Can't be a proper Godfather if I'm a wanted fugitive, now can I? Once I'm absolved of all crimes, I'll be a free man and able to provide for you as I've always meant to._

_Your letters remind me there's a world beyond Azkaban._

_Keep in touch,  
_ _Sirius_

With that Harry burned the letter and then continued eating his stew. Nobody commented on the fire spell, quite used to it by now. Filling with joy, he leaned into it. It was a glorious feeling; he dared to dream that someone would go through all that trouble just to give him a place to live over the summer. His uncertainties tried to dampen that joy, but he wouldn't let it, not now. Inwardly, Harry vowed to write a letter every day even if nothing particularly interesting happened. He had trouble enough imagining what it was like for Sirius to have to return willingly to that horrible place.

A week later, Harry awoke on Christmas Day with a suddenness that made him wary. Something had tripped the Torpor Rune's release sigil, which he had added when he didn't want a repeat of the morning after Goyle had tried and failed to wake him for a late night meeting about the Second Task. The morning after that fiasco, before Harry could even have breakfast, he'd been marched to Madam Pomfrey for a check-up and then given a nutrient potion when he was given a clean bill of health. The Hogwarts Healer gave Harry her sternest talking-to about always using a release sigil with the Torpor Rune. She'd been startled when Harry had promptly thanked her for the grand idea.

Mind unclear from his abrupt return to consciousness, Harry opened his eyes and met two very large, green eyes staring back at him in the darkness, so close they were nose to nose. " _Dobby_?" He hissed out, after he had scrambled back. "Don't do that!"

"Dobby is sorry, sir," his house-elf squeaked, anxiously. "I is only wanting to wish Harry Potter 'Merry Christmas' and to bring him a present from Master Neville, sir!"

"It's okay. Happy Christmas, Dobby," Harry whispered, telling his heart to calm as he reached for his Glaxxes. "Next time prod me gently… don't bend over and stare at me like that…"

"Is Harry Potter ready to receive the present, sir?" Besides ratty socks, Dobby was wearing the emerald jumper that Mrs. Weasley had knitted for Harry last year and the Slytherin tie with the tacky scrolling marquee on it that Harry had deliberately left at Longbottom Manor. On Dobby's head were no less than four knitted hats of various colors precariously stacked one upon the other.

"Of course." Harry accepted the wrapped object which was obviously a wide-necked glass vessel. What could Neville have given him?

"I has a surprise for Master Harry too!" The house-elf bounced and swung in place unable to hold in his glee.

Harry shushed him and Dobby immediately quieted without the flinch which had been so common before. His knobby finger had risen to his lips as his broad mouth split into a smile. "What's this surprise?" Harry whispered.

The house-elf hopped and balanced on the tiptoes of a foot, proudly thrusting a lumpy package towards him. "Dobby made it himself, sir."

"You've given me a Christmas gift?" Harry felt horrid as he stared down at the package in his hands. He'd forgotten to Owl Order something for Dobby from Hogsmeade, since the house-elf had done Harry's Christmas shopping before he'd gone to school. Harry was an arse for forgetting.

Dobby nodded, glowing with pride. "Bought the wool out of Dobby's wages."

"Thank you," he whispered. Setting it down, Harry knew just what the little house-elf loved the most. "I've got a surprise for you too. Wait a moment." He quietly went to his wardrobe and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out the socks the headmaster had given him the Christmas before. It was the nicest, softest pair Harry had ever owned, but he felt odd whenever he tried to wear them. "Sorry it's not wrapped," Harry said handing the rolled pair to him.

The house-elf was utterly delighted. "Socks are Dobby's favorite, favorite clothes, sir!" he whispered gleefully, ripping off the one with the hole on the end of it from his left foot and a stained one from his right. "I has seven now… But sir," Dobby said his eyes widening as he pulled the socks out of the roll, "But they is two the same!"

"They're supposed to be. That's why they're called a  _pair_  of socks. The other ones you've found are just castoffs because their twin is missing," Harry said solemnly.

"Oh… oh dear, sir. Dobby has erred terribly," Dobby croaked out and then reached for the lumpy package he'd given to Harry.

But before Dobby could take it back, Harry opened it and found two socks. One was bright red with a pattern of broomsticks and the other was green with a pattern of Snitches. Grinning, Harry immediately slipped them over his other pair.

Dobby's eyes were wide and watery, his bony fingers wrapped around his ears. "Master Harry… likes?"

"They're perfect," he said quietly, "Red and green for the Yuletide season and broomsticks and snitches for my favorite sport. And they're warm! Thank you, Dobby." He smiled at the house-elf who looked as if he might twist his ears at any moment.

Dobby's eyes leaked with happiness as if Harry's words were the most generous he'd ever heard. Tentatively, he dropped his hands though they remained held together against his chest. He squeaked, "Master Harry is so kind, sir. So kind." Harry knew it had taken great strength for Dobby not to hurt himself for his harmless mistake.

Harry beamed at him. "Put your new socks on and go back to the manor before Mrs. Longbottom catches you. I wouldn't want your pay reduced because you were absent when she needed you."

Yanking the fluffy, silver and green striped socks up to dark green shorts which had been hidden beneath the jumper, the house-elf grinned shyly, his ears rising with attentive happiness. His little body shivered with excitement. "Dobby is on Christmas holiday with Harry Potter." Leaning forward with wide eyes, Dobby whispered conspiratorially, "Professor Dumbledore is paying Dobby a Galleon a week in Hogwarts kitchen, sir!"

"Really? A whole Galleon? That means you'll have earned three by the time hols is over," Harry said with approval.

"Yes, sir, yes! Such riches Dobby has never known! And yet, Professor Dumbledore had wished to give Dobby  _ten_  Galleons a week with a day off, but I beat down his generous offer." He clutched his ears with a terrified expression as if that amount was simply staggering for someone like him to own. He looked at the gifts waiting by Harry's bed and made a noise. "But I will no longer disturb Harry Potter on such a joyous day!" He snapped his fingers and with a soft crack was gone without waiting for a reply.

Harry blinked at the space Dobby had occupied only moments before.  _Good job, Dobby_ , Harry thought with a grin. So, the enterprising house-elf had advocated for vacation time and Mrs. Longbottom had granted it. Instead of traveling around, Dobby had decided to be where Harry was and must've asked the headmaster if he could stay at Hogwarts. Harry would have to write Hermione to let her know; she'd be thrilled to hear about Dobby's newfound agency.

In her most recent letters, Hermione had written that her organization had been renamed to House-Elf Liberation Front and wasn't as popular as she had thought it would be. She'd postponed an official meeting until there was more interest. Harry had nearly shaken his head when he'd read her continued efforts to free house-elves by leaving knitted caps about the Gryffindor common room.

One day Hermione would realize that house-elves really did enjoy helping others and hated doing things purely for their own self-interest. The Gryffindor stubbornly thought of them as human instead of accepting what a house-elf needed. Dobby was an outlier among his kind for seeking things out for his betterment; he likely only did so because Harry deeply desired that Dobby take care of himself. However, it was entirely possible that Dobby's nature had been twisted because of the abuse and trauma he'd undergone with the Malfoys. Harry hadn't read much about house-elves now he thought about it.

At the sound of the quiet whipcrack, Draco snorted and then came awake. "Dobby?"

"Wake up! Let's open presents," Harry said to the room. Crabbe and Goyle expressed their disgruntlement at the rude awakening.

"Dobby was here," Draco yawned with an accusatory look.

"He was delivering last-minute gifts," Harry said, sinking to the floor next to the mountain of presents he'd gotten. "Besides, I didn't want to give you a chance to grab him."

"I've got Zippy. I've no use for yours… Don't you see I only want to mend things between my father and you?"

"No one asked you to," Harry snapped. "Your dad tried to kill me when I freed Dobby. Guess that means nothing to you?"

Mouth parted, Draco stared at him for a long moment.

 _I suppose he didn't know._ Harry looked away, feeling a bit sick at the way Draco's eyes had moistened. "Never mind. We've presents to open."

Bleary-eyed, the others settled onto the floor to unwrap their presents. Keeping to his new habits, Draco didn't say another word not even when his eyes seemed drawn to the animated designs on Harry's outlandish socks.

Harry glanced towards the last bed in the room, missing Theodore's easy company. He hoped everything had gone okay during the full moon last night.

"Theo'll be back for th' Yule Ball this evening, won't he?" Goyle asked frowning at their roommate's empty bed closest to the door.

"Yes, that's what he said before he left," Harry replied reaching for the first stack of presents.

The champion unwrapped seven books, one from each of the Slytherin girls plus Hermione and an unpublished one from Wynch:  _The Dark Arts Outsmarted, Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Opalescent Lionsnakes, Hexes for the Hexed, Self-Defensive Spellwork, Sensors and Detectors for the Untrusting,_   _A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions_ ,  _The Wizard's Guide to Electric Circuit Essentials_. He then unwrapped a pair of green socks shaped like snakes from the headmaster; from Crabbe and Goyle, a vast box of Honeydukes sweets with all of Harry's favorites; a wax press affixed with a coat of arms Harry didn't recognize from Mrs. Longbottom; a handy penknife with attachments to unlock any lock and undo any knot from Sirius; a pendulum that swayed towards lost and misplaced objects from Nott; a new set of Slytherin Seeker robes enchanted to be weightless and repel nearly everything but the snitch—according to Draco—and a very large care package from Mrs. Weasley containing a knitted green-and-silver striped jumper with a lumpy picture of a Horntail on it and a vast amount of mince pies.

Harry passed the pies to Crabbe and Goyle, and they were quickly eaten. Lastly, Harry opened Neville's present and found a pile of what looked to be the contents of a cat's stomach—if a cat enjoyed seaweed—inside a glass vessel. He inspected it for a bit, not recognizing it at all and he had seen a lot of potions ingredients in his two-month stint in detention. "Draco. What would you say this is?"

He held up a hand, and Harry tossed it gently. Snatching it from the air, his roommate stared at it intensely. "I… actually don't know, but it  _looks_  like lakeweed. Might be a special variant specifically bred for a rare sort of Potion. It might even have come from Black Lake."

Harry caught it when Draco tossed it back and set the vessel of lakeweed down. He obviously had to ask Neville about it later. Why he would think Harry wanted a lump of the disgusting mess was beyond him. Harry's eyes lingered over the presents. This year there were no anonymous gifts. He clutched the glass vessel. A certain greasy-haired bastard would've known what the contents were, but he wasn't Harry's guardian any longer. He was more likely to deride Harry for not searching out the answers for himself.

Crabbe asked, "You all right?"

"It's nothing," Harry answered, standing to set the vessel onto his desk. He was feeling sentimental and that would be dangerous to show. Gathering his presents, he placed the wax press and books on his desk, the pendulum and penknife in his pouch, and hung the Slytherin Quidditch robes in his wardrobe—though he wouldn't be using them at all this year—and the socks in the bottom drawer. He opened the box of sweets and sampled a few of his favorites: Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes.

Draco was reading the preface of a large silver-and-green softcover entitled,  _The Wizard's Guide to Muggle_   _Curiosities, Part One_. It was obvious that he was absorbed by the book's contents, and he had every right to be. His father had carefully honed Draco into hating everything Muggle without a drop of proof beyond his word of their inferiority. The knowledge that even touching the book was forbidden probably filled his roommate with unadulterated glee; if Lucius Malfoy ever discovered Draco owned such a thing he would likely go into a rage.

"Thanks for the robes," Harry said to Draco, who grunted. Harry leaned to see Crabbe and Goyle with his presents in hand. "Thanks for the sweets."

They muttered their thanks. Crabbe was sweeping the Enchanted Object over any writing nearby with a delighted grin when it spoke the words out quietly, while an engrossed Goyle browsed through a book on famous Wizarding poetry.

Not long after, they went to breakfast, exchanged thank-yous with their housemates for the gifts. The Slytherin witches had each received a book of their own—Neville had interrupted the process when he hurled himself at Harry throwing arms about him. His brother was in tears over the Nimbus Two-Thousand he'd received. When Harry had seen the broom and panicked about the remaining funds in his vault, Dobby had assured him that it had been cheaply acquired; the house-elf had been sly about it, regaling the pitiful tale of what had happened to the great Harry Potter's broom after he'd been attacked by dementors. The Quidditch shop owner had been rightly impressed and so moved to discount a broom he had been tricked into believing would be used by the Boy-Who-Lived.

Neville's tearful thanks was followed by a more reserved thank-you from Hermione for the badge Harry had re-purposed which blinked 'Help H.E.L.F.' in green instead of 'Harry the Fairy'; it had required a bit of research to strip away the charms laid into it and reapply them with the words he wanted. He had opted to give the present that Dobby had bought as a birthday gift back mid-September. She hadn't thanked him in person for that, but she had in a letter, though it had been buried underneath paragraphs outlining the history of house-elf enslavement.

Once the Gryffindors let them alone—thankfully without Draco's interference—the Slytherins went back to their dormitory and messed around for hours. Draco strolled to the stand by his desk where he had Conjured a glass cage for the model of the Hungarian Horntail that Harry had pulled from Mr. Crouch's bag. He would often spend time watching the vicious thing as it paced about and snorted fire.

Today Draco had suggested to Goyle to roast the chestnuts he'd received for Christmas on the heavy-duty screen acting as a lid which Draco had Transfigured from a busted quill holder. The cage had grown more elaborate over the weeks and now showcased a wading pool, a cavern-like space, and a replica nesting area with fake Horntail eggs. Harry hadn't been able to resist inspecting the stunning amount of detail that had laid into the dragon model's atrium and oftentimes would find himself next to it just to see what had changed or been added.

While the chestnuts cooked, Harry played chess with Goyle, who was half-way decent but nowhere near as good as Gilbert—or Draco. Funny how doing nothing worked up an appetite. They ate the chestnuts and then headed to lunch. When the headmaster had appeared, Harry stopped by the staff table to thank him for the socks, which was heartily returned. "I daresay my favorite colors are blue and purple," Professor Dumbledore said as his eyes twinkled, "Though I do appreciate the vibrancy of magenta, red, and orange. The patterning is remarkably reminiscent of Fawkes."

After having their fill, they returned to the Slytherin dungeons again. Dennis was passing out items and sacks of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise; several people were mimicking animals instead of speaking while others popped a custard tart in their mouth and suddenly sprouted a face-full of feathers. Harry didn't try any when offered, but he thought the effects were amusing.

Since the ball included a feast, there would be no Christmas tea today, which Harry had always skipped. At seven o'clock, Theodore finally appeared.

"Hey, Harry! Love the thingamajig." Looking only a bit wan, Theodore flicked the black cylindrical object that looked like a laser pointer side-to-side. "What's it do? Da said you should've given me instructions."

"That, is a Spectrascope," Harry stated as he slipped into his dress robes, which had been Transfigured again so that the silver pin-stripes were metallic green. "You point it at an unidentified object and it lists out what it's composed of, but when there's a recognizable pattern it'll tell you what it is. Brilliant isn't it? A Bavarian father-daughter team invented it about four centuries ago. Of course, others have adjusted its functions over time, added to its database, shrunk it down to something that travels easily, and the like." Harry grabbed his tie and roped it around his neck. He paused when he saw that Theodore hadn't moved from his spot. His friend had a puzzled expression as if he wasn't quite sure when he would need it. "Theo, you should get ready, yeah?"

"Right!" Theodore flipped it over his fingers deftly, and then caught and pocketed it. "Thanks."

"Thank you for that Lost-and-Found Pendulum. I know I'll use it loads around Neville over the summer." Harry didn't utter the possibility that he might be living with Sirius at that time. It would be upsetting enough if the trial lasted through the summer. Harry would insist on visiting Sirius if that were the case, dementors be damned.

Unaware of the dark turn of Harry's thoughts, his friend grinned as he disrobed and pulled on his dress robes. "It's the first one I created that worked to Da's specs."

"You made it?" Harry said as he tightened his tie.

"I don't have an apprenticeship for nothing," Theodore teased as he shrugged into his vest and buttoned it.

Once the fourth-year wizards had changed into their dress robes, only Harry appeared to be feeling self-consciously. It wasn't helped when Draco refused to Transfigure Harry's dress robes from silk back to velvet. At least, Harry wouldn't look old-fashioned. That was what he thought, until he had a good look at what Draco was wearing.

The prat had on dress robes of black crushed velvet with a high collar and floating shoulders, which made him look like a count, someone who belonged at a high-class ball despite all his bluster of it being 'out of style'. Crabbe and Goyle were wearing moss-colored silk dress robes, looking like two well-dressed bouncers, and Theodore's dress robes… well, looked rather normal in Harry's opinion, more like a flashy tuxedo with extra-long coattails. The buttons hummed a ditty whenever Theodore would fiddle with them.

Harry scowled. "I thought velvet was from the Middle Ages?"

The barbed comment caused Draco to smirk. He lifted a pale brow. "I've decided that high fashion is ready for retro fabrics to be back in style."

Letting the annoyance go, Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair for the tenth time, quite aware of the two vials and a lump of bezoar in his coat pockets… and then his eyes fell upon the container of lakeweed. He'd forgotten to ask Neville about the nasty-looking gift.

"Loosen up," a cheerful Theodore said, poking Harry at a spot in his spine which caused him to straighten.

"I'm about to dance in front of half the school and two separate school delegations," Harry retorted. "I know everyone thinks I'm something special, but the truth is I'm not. I'm a fake."

"You? A fake?" Draco said with an amused huff. He reached out to straighten Harry's tie, but Harry leveled a glare at him and then snatched it back from nimble fingers.

"You stole an egg from a nesting mother dragon. We all saw it," Theodore said. "Yeah, it was a fake egg, but that dragon didn't know the difference, did it?"

"I thought I might die. That calm person? That wasn't me." The damning words came out in a rush. Harry snapped his mouth shut.

A light frown flickered across his friend's face and then it was gone. "Harry, it's normal to—"

Harry pointed at the cage with the growling dragon model. "I drew  _that_  cursed thing, the one I least wanted. The Welsh Green? Diggory had a fifty-fifty chance of not picking it. Of our plans, there weren't any options against a Horntail that could have complete success." Harry was pacing now, tugging his lapels down and straightening his vest out of habit. "I could've been burnt to a crisp. Luck is the only reason I'm not."

Theodore stepped in front of him and held him by his shoulders. "Harry, you need to breathe. Okay?" The Quadwizard champion did so. "What you're experiencing is a perfectly normal response to wild success," he said, giving Harry's shoulders a squeeze before releasing him. "Though it's about a month late… You must've been in denial."

Harry's eyes blinked in surprise. "What?"

"It's a well-documented occurrence what you're describing. You feel like a pretender and that it's all some elaborate sham?"

The manners drilled into Harry was the only reason why his mouth wasn't hanging open. "Now, I feel confused."

"Psych Healers call it the Skepticism Pathway. Congratulations, you have above-average intelligence and intuition!" Theodore's wand-hand gave his shoulder a solid pat.

"And a higher inclination towards crippling self-doubt," Draco murmured.

Harry glared at the prat. "I do not have  _crippling self-doubt_!" His roommate decided not to answer that, turning to his miniature atrium. "Theo?" Harry gave his friend a look.

"Ah. Well. Would you look at the time? We should get going!"

Harry's arm shot out to grab Theodore's shoulder. "I would rather face that dragon again, right now, than dance in front of the whole school."

His friend tilted his head. "Why? I heard that you dance so well that McGonagall let you loose."

"…I've got some bezoar in case someone tries to poison me, but I don't know what else to expect. The crowd's an unknown."

Theodore's face flipped through several expressions: incredulity, worry, amusement.

Snickering, Draco shook his head and stepped away from his atrium. "Of course! Silly me. We should've given you an agenda."

Pulling from Harry's weak grip, Theodore lifted an eyebrow. "Agenda?"

A gloved hand flourished. Draco had both poise and that irritating air of superiority. "Here's the concise version: Your Grace will greet your date with a formal introduction in the common room and then escort her to the Entrance Hall. Then wait until the Great Hall doors open. Escort her into the ballroom behind the other champions and their partners. Then glide to the very center of the room. Take up a position, and be ready to dance as soon as the music starts."

Harry sighed softly as he turned to Draco. "That's it? No bag of strategies or alternative plans in case escape is necessary?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore will be there, and if you do need to escape there's plenty of exits to take. Plenty of windows," Draco said with supreme confidence. "I do suggest that you take breaks, snack, drink, walk, stargaze, chat, snog—"

Harry's face heated. "I could've done without the last bit, thanks."

"I thought you said you wanted a bag of strategies…?" Draco smirked smugly at Harry's discomfort.

"That should do, Draco. Right Harry?" Theodore placed an arm around an unresisting Harry, steering him towards the door. "Now, come on. Don't want to be late!"

Down in the common room, excited Slytherins were pairing up left and right. Harry's stomach felt as if it were doing backflips as he waited for Tracey to appear.

The first fourth year to step out of the girls' stairwell, Pansy was wearing frilly robes of pale pink. Beside her, Daphne was wearing a similar style except with dark purple, same too with Tracey except she'd gone with silver-grey; every single one of them was showing a large amount of leg and wore matching hats. Pansy immediately went to Draco, while Daphne tossed a casual goodbye, her green eyes lingering on Harry, and went to find her date in the crowded common room.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Tracey said with a tentative smile and curtsy.

Harry wasn't sure if he was disappointed that she hadn't removed the enchantment from her face as he bowed and returned the formal greeting. He must have looked too long at her face because she produced a cloth and offered it to him. "I didn't want to walk out without it on. Too many questions," Tracey murmured, eyes on the floor. Her cheeks began to pink.

He took the moist cloth. "Are you sure? If you changed your mind…"

Stepping closer, her eyes flickered with annoyance and tilted her face towards him. "Go on. Take it off."

Harry gently wiped the cloth across her face, and slowly the gut-wrenching scar appeared. "There." The cloth was smudged green and peach now as he handed it back to her. "I've got a gift for you too."

"Hand it to me later." Tracey carefully folded the used cloth and put it in the purse hanging from the rope tied around her middle. She then offered her arm. "They're waiting for us, champion."

Remembering the countless hours of manners lessons, Harry took it. They glided towards the crowd, which was waiting at the bottom stairs leading to the exit. Several housemates glanced at Tracey's fierce scar, but said nothing and politely looked away.

Looking a bit like a square pumpkin, Bulstrode was wearing a full-length orange dress with matching gloves and was quite happily holding onto Goyle's arm. A thickset fifth year by the name of Fern Carrow stood on the other side of Crabbe in a black dress that reminded Harry more of the Muggle vision of a witch. Sally-Anne, meanwhile, had chosen a pale green prom dress with faint purple swirls at the bottom. Theodore had a relaxed arm around her waist, and she had threaded her gloved hand through his on her hip. When he watched them, Harry always felt that he had intruded on a private moment.

Tracey smiled. "They look nice, don't they?"

Harry nodded. "You look nice too," he managed. His stomach had not settled. He wasn't in danger of upending its contents, but it caused some discomfort.

Tracey's smile deepened, and her hand pulled some wisps away from her face. "Thank you, and you're handsome as usual."

Harry blinked a bit. "…Thanks." Noticing his surprise, Tracey's polite grin transformed into one with copious teeth.

"Before I release you to your festive frivolity," Snape announced from the top of the stairs leading to the exit. He waited until conversation halted. To Harry's surprise, the bastard's hair appeared washed, combed, trimmed, and tied back. He was wearing his best fitted pair of black robes since they weren't faded. Not quite dress robes, but enough to not look out of place at a formal event. "Do keep in mind that I and the prefects are chaperoning all of you and will inform your parents about behavior unbecoming of the House of Slytherin. Furthermore I will remove you physically from the party and award detention if you can do no more than latch onto one another like barnacles upon a stern..." A long moment stretched by. Harry saw several younger housemates fidgeting. "Now," their Head of House said dryly, "let's reflect on that warning…"

"Oh, come now, Professor Snape! At this rate, we'll miss the Yule Ball!" Wynch's voice shouted, dispelling the solemn mood that had settled over them, and everyone laughed.

Their Head of House let out a deep sigh of regret as if allowing them to attend would be a grave error, but he stepped aside gesturing towards the portrait hole. "Very well. Proceed to your revelry, Vipers."

Around Harry, his housemates let out a cheer and a smattering of thank-yous as they rushed forward. Not liking the push and pull of so many bodies, Harry waited until he and Tracey were at the very end of the queue making its way out of the common room. The stairs were slow-going as Tracey's high heels required careful stepping on the uneven and worn stone steps. Professor Snape followed after them and then murmured a phrase that sounded a lot like  _baboons_  at the Thin Lady. Perhaps it was the new password so any Slytherins who returned would not be able to enter while he and the prefects were out of the house.

Quickening their steps, Harry and his date caught up with the stragglers at the steps leading to the Entrance Hall. Reaching the top of the staircase, champion and date waited outside of the Great Hall among the crowd.

Catching sight of Hermione, Harry saw that her bushy hair had been tamed for the event. It was sleek and shiny and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing a similar dress to the one she had worn to the Quidditch World Cup, except it was bluer than lavender—probably Transfigured. She was holding herself differently too—her head was held a little higher, her shoulders back a little farther. Hermione was smiling nervously at her date, Viktor Krum, who still slouched regardless of his formal tight-fitting red coat, a fur-lined half-cloak strapped over a shoulder.

The busty Hufflepuff witch, who had called Harry a smelly cheat, was on the arm of the student, whose lap had once held Cedric's resting head. Beside the couple was Cho Chang, who was partnered with Cedric Diggory. She was in a beautiful silver-and-white dress with extra-long sleeves that would have dragged along the ground if she hadn't kept her arms partially bent and a large, unusually-shaped bow at the base of her spine. Diggory was wearing what looked like an old-fashioned tuxedo complete with a pleated shirt and peaked shoulders, except they were definitely robes. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were standing quite close to one another smiling happily as they listened avidly to the witch.

Meanwhile, Fleur Delacour was wearing a gorgeous ball gown that shimmered with the pattern of a green peacock. Her date, one of the tagalongs from before, towered over her, wearing dress robes similar to Draco's except made of bronze silk. Unlike the other champions' dates, Delacour's gave off an awkward discomfort. Now and then he would gaze at her stupidly as if struck dumb by her beauty... and he probably was completely under the influence of veela magic, come to think of it.

"Harry!" came a voice above Harry and Tracey.

He looked up. Ginny was in a cerulean blue Victorian-style gown with swatches of light and dark blue fabrics woven throughout it. Her hair was twisted into a very whimsical style, and she wore gloves as satiny and blue-patterned as her multi-layered dress, which didn't poof out as much as Harry expected, and was rather flatter at the front of the skirt. Light and dark blue sapphires winked from her ears and necklace. Remembering Draco's countless comments about the Weasleys' lack of wealth, Harry supposed that it'd been paid for from the Potter vault. But Harry already had Tracey for a date. Surely Wynch hadn't disobeyed him?

"Good evening, Harry," Ginny said enacting a quick curtsy.

Under Tracey's inquiring stare, Harry executed an elegant bow, "Good evening, Miss Weasley. Have you met Tracey Davis? She's a classmate of mine and my date to the Yule Ball."

With a pleasant smile, Tracey curtsied. "Hello, Weasley."

The youngest Weasley attempted a curtsy as graceful and stumbled a bit. Her face had gone scarlet. "Hello, Davis. I like your dress." Ginny didn't look too hard at her face.

"Not as nice as yours. Went to a tailor? Must have cost a couple hundred Galleons." Harry's date glanced at him with a knowing look.

Ginny's flush ran down her neck to the exposed upper part of her chest. "I, um, didn't realize Harry had a date or—"

"Oh, you look fantastic, Ginny!" Harry did a double-take now that he had a good look at the Head Boy. Wynch's navy blue dress robes glittered and clung to him like a second skin. It too looked from the Victorian age, including tights, except outlandishly decorated with stars. At least he hadn't worn a powdered wig and fake mole; it was plenty flamboyant.

With a look of relief, Ginny took Wynch's arm and hugged it to herself. Feeling suddenly out of place when, with a happy sigh, the redhead leaned against the Head Boy, Harry looked at the Christmas decorations.

"Excuse us for a moment," Tracey said sweetly, drawing Harry away from the two. In a vacant corner near Slytherin's portrait, she asked quietly, "Why didn't you go to the ball with her?"

Behind them, Hermione exclaimed, "Ginny! You look wonderful!"

Ginny's giggle, a lovely sound, floated up. Harry felt calmer merely listening to her. "You do too, Hermione."

"Well?" Tracey demanded. "Why didn't you?"

"Reasons," Harry whispered to her, trying to rid himself of the pleasant goosebumps he had from Ginny's giggling. Deciding this was the best time than any, he reached a hand into the pocket of his suit. "May I give you the gift?"

The light frown on her face melted away in a wash of curiosity. "Yes... What is it?"

Harry fished out the vials. "In case we get separated." He offered them to her. "The vials are charmed Unbreakable."

Scooping them out of his palm, Tracey shot him a worried look. "And what are they? Non-lethal, I hope."

"Throw the contents of the blue-tinted one on Yaxley. The other will remove the effects."

With a furtive look, she shoved them into a pouch that'd been hiding in the folds of her dress. "Leaves scars?"

"Absolutely."

"Induces pain?"

"Tremendous amounts, and if you don't apply the second, you'll likely be expelled for it. I recommend that it be used only in self-defense. It'll keep about three years if kept out of direct sunlight and heat." Long enough for Yaxley to have graduated out of Hogwarts.

A grin of wickedness crossed her features. "How thoughtful of you, Harry." She stood up straighter, grabbing his wrist to direct it to wrap above her waist. Then she held her arm out in the odd way that meant she wanted escort, which Harry caught with his forearm flat and hand towards the floor. "Let's re-join the others. Shall we?"

As they turned, Tracey landed a chaste kiss on Harry's cheek. He blinked at her as she smiled and pressed her soft hip against him, somehow walking in step with him. They stepped behind the other champions and their dates. Krum had lifted Hermione's hand to his lips to kiss, and a blush appeared on her cheeks.

"How do I look?" Ginny's eager voice brought Harry's attention back to her and her date. They were one of the few couples lingering in the Entrance Hall. It was driving Harry a bit mad that he couldn't help looking at her.

"Beautiful," Wynch said. Harry agreed, but figured it would be rude to say so with Tracey standing beside him.

Professor McGonagall strolled in and upon sighting the Head Boy glanced towards his date and gave Wynch a look of disapproval. With a polite expression, Wynch gently led Ginny into the Great Hall, an arm around her shoulders and a hand wrapped around hers as if she were made of spun glass.

"Champions, line up with your partners. We're ready for you to open the ball," Professor McGonagall told them, eyes finally falling away from Wynch and Ginny.

As they walked in, everyone applauded, eagerly taking in the stunning vision of the champions with their dates. Stiff-backed, Harry hated the attention, until Tracey poked him in the side unobtrusively. "Look at me if they bother you," she murmured, her grey eyes gleaming with excitement. They swept in behind the taller students ahead of them, eyes mostly on one another.

And then Harry had made it to the center of the dance floor with her and silence descended upon them like a heavy cloak. Panic began to swell inside him, churning his stomach. He kept glancing towards the double doors. A large crowd was staring at them with wide-eyed wonder.

"Take my waist," Tracey whispered. She gently took his hand and led it to her waist.

He immediately took up the proper position, placing a firm hand on her back right shoulder blade, and held up her other hand elegantly. The music began to rise, and Harry began to dance straightaway. What was especially difficult about the Wizard's version of ballroom dancing was that it didn't just include shuffling of feet, but also the hands, and then after so many shuffles one lifted one's partner up, doing a quarter-turn before starting all over again. Under so many eyes, Harry frowned as he concentrated on not tripping over either of their feet. The ease that he'd had at the dance lesson had fled.

Tracey grinned broadly the entire time, not the least bit self-conscious about the scar on her face as she steered Harry forcefully like a show dog when he faltered. "Relax," she whispered, "You're doing great!"

He didn't resist the grin that spilled on his face. Once he looked into her eyes, the stares of the onlookers fell away. He began to enjoy himself, doing more advanced flourishes. Delighted, Tracey would let a brief chuckle free whenever he performed one to perfection.

Before long the dance floor was filling around them, and Harry noticed that the couple nearest was Draco and Pansy. Not much farther, Theodore and Sally-Anne were standing rather close as they swayed and twirled with one another. Even Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were dancing! Wynch and Ginny were hard to miss as the glittering Head Boy expertly led her around the room and her giggles echoed and mixed with the noises of the dancers and musical instruments. Neville was with Luna, who was wearing a very peculiar dress that clanked every time she was set down by the quarter-spin. As Harry's tension faded, he swept into the dance as easily as he breathed and that's when Tracey actually laughed when he lifted her. He kept his eyes on hers all throughout, and she didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything but him as he led her through the dancing couples, spinning and shuffling.

When the music finally stopped, Tracey looked a bit winded, her cheeks taking on a flushed hue, while the scar remained strangely pale. She smiled, her eyes alight with thoughts she didn't share.

"Champion table," Draco said quietly as he passed by Harry with a grimacing Pansy on his arm.

 _Not too difficult to locate_ , Harry thought as he led Tracey to the table where the judges were already seated with Fleur Delacour and her Ravenclaw date, whose name Harry still couldn't place. Harry pulled the chair out for Tracey and then took his own seat as Diggory and Krum did the same for their dance partners.

Every one of the judges was wearing their best dress robes. The headmaster's was a shimmering set with lights that twinkled whenever he shifted and a pointed hat with a crooked tip made of the same material; as usual his attitude was that of a jolly drunk, sharing smiles and pleasant anecdotes at an alarmingly high frequency. Madam Maxime was wearing a flowing gown of greenish-blue silk and a sharp smile aimed towards her champion. Looking cheerful and content, Principal Oke was wearing a set of tuxedo robes that looked very similar to a train conductor's suit except in black, white, and silver colors, the hat with a flat, square top set at a jaunty angle. High Master Karkaroff was wearing a stiff, white coat with a fur-lined half-cloak strapped to his left shoulder and an expression of intense dislike towards Hermione whenever she leaned towards Krum. The fifth judge was not Barty Crouch Harry suddenly realized as he stared at the fifth chair's occupant; it was Percy Weasley in a set of fancy robes better suited for an office environment.

"This is Percival Weasley, Mr. Crouch's personal assistant at the Ministry of Magic," Professor Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand towards the Hogwarts alumni, "Barty, unfortunately, isn't feeling well and has sent Mr. Weasley as his representative."

The older students around him murmured noises of sympathy and welcome. There was no food yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Harry picked his up uncertainly and looked around—there were no waiters.

"Who are you looking for?" Tracey asked quietly in his ear. But before Harry could respond, the headmaster said to his plate, "Pork chops!"

And pork chops appeared.  _Right_ , Harry thought faintly,  _magic_. "Ah, no one," he said with an embarrassed smile. He looked down at the delicious items listed on the menu. Dobby might have had a hand in its devising since there were items that Harry preferred. On top of sensing Harry's desires was he precognitive too?

All around, the others were embroiled with one another. Krum spoke eagerly with Hermione, who listened raptly, Professor Dumbledore and High Master Karkaroff were having an animated, vaguely worded discussion about school secrets, Madam Maxime and Principal Oke were discussing esoteric magical theories, Diggory and Chang didn't talk so much as stare into each other's eyes as they ate, and Delacour was speaking at length with her date—called Ro-jer—who gazed dazedly at her and kept missing his mouth with his fork. Only Percy seemed to be the odd one out in the group, but he didn't appear very bothered by it.

"Aren't you going to order something?" Tracey said as she delicately sipped a spoonful of the carrot and ginger soup.

Harry could hear Hermione trying to teach Krum how to say her name properly, who kept calling her 'Hermy-own' which was a tad worse than what he'd used around the Slytherins. Harry wondered if Krum had a sense of humor like the Bulgarian Minister. The Durmstrang student certainly seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Her-my-oh-nee," she said more clearly as Harry took a long drag of ice-water, eyes still on the menu.

"Her-my-own-ninny."

Harry sprayed his drink onto his plate in surprised laughter. Mortified more by the appraising stares of the table's occupants, he dabbed his face and plate with the napkin. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Gesundheit," Professor Dumbledore said seriously, "Might I suggest the steak and mash? I heard it's most divine, Harry."

Taking a great gulp of water, Harry nodded and then murmured the order, which appeared on his plate. Attempting to recall the innumerable lessons on manners he'd endured, he carefully began to eat. Vaguely, he was aware that Percy had been talking to him for the past minute and he had absolutely no idea what the topic was. Tracey had remained silent, nodding here and there during junctures of the one-sided conversation.

"…and they were making such a racket outside. Thought it was funny to fight with a pair of tables, Charlie and Bill did. I was writing up a very important report on the thickness of cauldron bottoms and had no time to be distracted by their shenanigans," her brother said snootily.

"What report?" Harry asked, while he dug into his steak and mash.

"At the Department of International Magical Cooperation, we've been trying to standardize cauldron thickness for half a year. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin—leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year—It's absolutely dreadful to see more and more flimsy shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger the public's welfare flood the market."

"That might explain why I could punch a hand through Neville Longbottom's shiny cauldron," Harry said. He took another dainty bite, wishing he could shovel the food in his mouth instead since the dancing had made him hungry.

" _Really_?" Percy perked up, much more engaged when someone seemed to care about cauldron bottom thicknesses. "Do you know where he was swindled into buying a defective cauldron?"

"No, I don't," Harry said honestly after he'd taken a deep draw of juice to clear his mouth of food. Harry glanced into his goblet wondering when the water had changed to Pumpkin Juice, but decided it wasn't worth changing back. "But ever since I gave him a thick-bottomed one he hasn't melted through it."

Percy looked rather vindicated. "I bet Professor Snape is pleased. He would constantly complain to Professor McGonagall about Neville's potionmaking skills. We tutored him, but none of us thought to check his cauldron."

"You should've seen Longbottom's face when Harry punched through it," Tracey said, making a knocking song with a cluck of her tongue and miming the action with her fist. "Harry hadn't bothered to warn him."

"I didn't because I thought he might stop me," Harry muttered. Percy seemed surprised at that.

Tracey nodded. "Poor Longbottom. We thought it was his bad potion-making skills that were causing the failure of his cauldrons. He's been melting through them ever since our first day of Potions…"

" _See_? I told everyone my work's important," Percy announced gleefully and then focused on Harry even though he had the attention of the entire table. "Would you be willing to file an Official Complaint about it? And add where Longbottom got it when you find out? We've been shutting down sham cauldron-makers left and right but we haven't been able to pinpoint where they're coming from." Percy's blue eyes radiated excitement.

"Sure, I can," he said. Percy Weasley appeared as if he'd landed on the moon using nothing but toothpicks and matches. Finished with his first course, Harry whispered for treacle pudding when he realized that everyone was nearly done with their dessert course.

Tracey was giving Harry a pondering grin like she wasn't sure what to make of his friendliness. Harry remembered how proactive Percy had been at snuffing out rule-breakers as prefect. Perhaps she'd gotten on the wrong side of the Gryffindor on more than one occasion.

Before long the food had been consumed and the tables magically cleared, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to stand as well. "We have danced and dined. Regrettably, I am quite tired from the night's festivities and will bid you a good night. However, tonight's entertainment is not yet finished…" Then with a wave of his wand, the tables zoomed back, pressing along the walls to leave the floor empty. Then, the headmaster conjured a raised platform along the back wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and a set of bagpipes were set upon it. "Give a very warm welcome to the Weird Sisters…!"

Everyone seemed to be screaming ecstatically—except for the champions and their dates. Harry didn't recognize the band. The Weird Sisters trooped up onto the stage all looking extremely hairy and dressed in artfully ripped and torn black robes. They picked up their instruments, and the lanterns floating in the air dimmed.

Harry saw the headmaster disappear through the side door of the Great Hall. The high master scoffed at Krum and ignored the glare from Hermione as he passed on his way towards the Entrance Hall. Madam Maxime lingered, finding a champagne glass to drink from. Her conversation with Principal Oke continued near the refreshment table.

"Come on," Tracey said, tugging at Harry since the other champions and their partners had already moved to stand by the stage. "Let's dance!"

Harry stumbled over his feet a bit as he followed. The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; the dancers had moved in to press their bodies fully against one another for a spin-in-place dance. He stood there awkwardly, while Tracey adjusted his hands. Harry seemed to have forgotten what he was supposed to be doing with them. She did not insist on pressing against him as she directed them into a much more familiar slow Muggle waltz, revolving slowly on the spot. Slowly, it grew comfortable to let her lean on him.

Hagrid had apparently asked Madam Maxime to dance with her, for why else would she be dancing? Someone was flailing and Harry saw that it was Luna. At first glance, she looked silly, until Harry realized she was deftly avoiding Neville's heavy feet. Harry snickered.

"What?" Tracey breathed out, sounding sleepy, her arms wrapped about his neck and head on his shoulder. It was finally at ease with her pressed against him.

"Luna's hopping around to avoid getting stepped on by Neville," Harry murmured in her ear.

"Oh…" As Tracey and Harry spun slowly, he felt her chuckle when she saw the two.

Seated at the far wall, Ron Weasley was wearing the rattiest, dustiest set of robes that Harry had ever laid eyes on. The Gryffindor was next to Parvati Patil a dark scowl on his face. Padma's sister looked wretched and glum as she eyed the other dancers with envy. A few moments later, an opportunistic Beauxbatons' boy must have seen her despondency and whisked her away without Ron's notice; Patil's frozen frown melted into exuberance as she joined the floor with her new dance partner. Harry wondered if Ron had even participated in the first dance.

"You're frowning again," Tracey said, looking sideways at him. They were about the same height.

"Ron Weasley's sulking," Harry said nodding in that direction. "Probably wishes he'd asked Hermione out before Krum did." Then again, he doubted Hermione would have acquiesced even if Ron had asked her earlier as he had during the Potions mid-year exam.

Curious, Tracey lifted her head and looked. "Well, I can imagine he regrets not doing it. His Gryffindor pride must be stinging that a student of the Dark Arts would win her affections."

Of course that would happen. From the little that Harry had seen, Ron was a git to Hermione whenever he was feeling inadequate. Krum, on the other hand, was surly but kind. Harry found himself wondering how the Durmstrang champion had gone about it. Hermione was often found reading or researching in her free time, which made it intimidating to strike up a conversation. That and Harry had seen the number of witches stalking Krum like wizards had with Delacour. It would have been tricky indeed to ask her out.

"You're always worrying about others, aren't you?" Tracey said more seriously, head tilted up and close enough that their noses nearly touched.

"I suppose," he said distantly, turning to look at the students around them. Pike Lestrange had collected two drinks and returned to a fifth year's side. Harry thought her surname was Volcko; he'd seen her preparing ingredients or managing temperature during detention. "For a long time I only had to worry about me."

Tracey hid a sad look behind a smile. Harry was about to ask her what was bothering her when she said, "Ginny is lucky."

"What makes you say that?" The final, quavering note squealed from the bagpipe. He was relieved that the Weird Sisters had stopped playing. With a look of admonishment, Tracey stepped back and began to clap, and Harry did the same.

After the loud applause, the group struck up a new song, which was much faster. Harry was quite out of his element when Tracey kicked off her high heels, raised her arms, and began to sway her hips. The dance style certainly accentuated her curves and long legs. He gaped for a moment, eyes drawn to the movement as if she were one of the Bulgarian mascots.

Tracey noticed his gawking. Of course, she would. "Lift up your arms and dance with me."

"I… er…" Harry felt his ears heat.

One of the Weasley twins went flying by with Angelina Johnson, one of the Gryffindor Chasers. They were both flailing exuberantly, so much so that people backed away from them.

Harry raised his hands and stiffly shuffled. He really wasn't fond of learning new dances.

"Whoever thought that Harry Potter, the champion who expertly cast a Flame-Freezing Charm to withstand  _dragon-fire_ , is afraid of a little dancing?" Tracey teased.

His face warmed as he clumsily attempted to follow her lead. "Not scared. My body is being uncooperative."

"It's cooperative when you're playing Seeker. You handle a broom like you're born on it," she said lowly, her eyelids heavy. For some reason, this caused Harry's face to grow hotter.

Swept up in Sally-Anne's arms, Theodore whistled lightly in approval as they passed. "Nice moves, your Grace," he said merrily. "You look great, Tracey!"

"Thank you," she concurred, turning in place to look over her shoulder and shake her back end at Harry.

"Better appreciate her," Theodore said with a wink, to which Sally-Anne let out a chortle.

Harry scowled at his best friends. Honestly, this dance made him uncomfortable, like a fish out of water, especially when Tracey suddenly rubbed her shapely posterior against his front. As much as she seemed to enjoy it, Harry was not though he felt his stomach tighten in response to her movement. He was thinking of half a dozen excuses to extricate himself without embarrassing either of them.

A loud argument suddenly broke out from the other side of the Great Hall. Stepping away from Tracey, Harry's attention immediately zeroed in on the commotion. He recognized the heated voices of Ron and Hermione.

"What?  _What_?! Is that what you think?!" Hermione shrieked, practically running towards the exit the Great Hall. A redhead went after her.

"Yeah, that's what I think!" Ron shouted back.

With a quick glance around, Harry couldn't find Krum. Maybe he'd gone to the loo? Seeing an opportunity the arse-faced Weasley must have decided to impart some choice words to Hermione.

Someone cleared their throat quite loudly to be heard over the music. It was Tracey, whose arms were crossed. She didn't look happy.

"Erm… Excuse me, Tracey. You dance really well, and it's been great, but…" Harry gave her a guilty look.

He was surprised when Tracey nodded with a slightly bitter smile. She flagged a hand towards the doors. "Go on. Don't stop from helping a friend on my account."

Turning from his date, Harry ran after the two Gryffindors. There weren't any adults around to intercede. Ms. Oke had vanished, and the Great Hall seemed a lot emptier than it had been. Maybe the adults were making rounds through Hogwarts? Harry slowed once he entered the Entrance Hall, noting the cross look on Slytherin's portrait as the Gryffindors argued.

"—the solution then?  _Don't you_?!" Hermione's voice was quivering, somewhere between upset and enraged.

"Go on! Since I obviously don't know!" Ron yelled back. Their voices echoed against the stone walls.

"Next time there's a ball, pluck up the courage and ask me before somebody else does!" There were tears on her face as she gestured violently at him. "And  _NOT_  as a  _last resort_!"

"Well that's—I mean, that's completely—"

"Ron!" Ginny said forcefully, coming physically between them. "Can't you see you owe her an apology?"

"There's no reason for  _you_  to get in the middle of this!" Ron yelled at his sister. Something hot grabbed Harry by the belly, hooking him forward.

"Ron, shut it!" Harry stormed up to the hot-tempered Gryffindor, thrusting a finger at his chest. "You're showing everyone exactly how much of an arse you are."

When Ron blinked at him dumbly, Harry glared, smothering his awkwardness at pushing into the argument. Maybe he shouldn't have interfered and left it to them to duke it out, but if Ron had lashed out at his sister…

Ron knocked Harry's hand away. "This is none of your business, you bloody Slytherin!"

 ** _Someone needs to show him his proper place_** , came the soft whisper. Harry tensed, forcing himself to think on his best friends. That shut it up. For now.

Caring nothing of propriety, Hermione threw herself against Harry and whipped him around to press her face against the front of his coat. While she hugged him tightly, Harry uncomfortably patted her trembling shoulder. Witnessing what looked like a 'tender' moment, Ron stiffened; if the Gryffindor had hackles, they would have been up.

"Let go of me, Ginny!" Ron roared, pushing her away.

With a hard look, the third year stumbled back clutching her brother's wand. Her own wand was out and pointed. "You know my best hex."

Punctuating that, Hermione sobbed out, "He  _spoiled_   **everything**!"

"Girls," Ron muttered to himself after sending another nasty glare at Harry, which had no effect. The Weasley turned to journey up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, "The older they get the scarier they are…"

Letting out a scream from the back of her throat, Hermione clutched Harry tighter. He stood there hoping Ginny would pry her off of him, but she looked at them with a crestfallen expression. Harry craned his head around and saw a watchful Tracey standing by the double doors of the Great Hall. He mouthed, ' _Help?'_  at her but she simply shook her head. He gave her quite the pathetically helpless look, glancing at the Gryffindor clinging to him. Tracey smirked as if greatly amused by his discomfort, so much that Harry knew he was stuck in a situation that he was least prepared for. No matter how often Neville had cried, Harry hadn't learned a way to quicken it, only what  _not_  to do with an upset person. Asking questions no matter how polite and well-intended worsened things as did stating how one could avoid the situations which caused the outpouring of distress to start with. Best not to say anything at all and listen carefully.

A small hand touched Hermione's bare upper back, stroking it in a calming circle. When Harry looked, he unintentionally became ensnared by Ginny's sky blue eyes. She was frowning now. "Ron's a foul git, Hermione. He's not worth it," she said softly. "Come on… Let's get back to the common room. Fred and George gave me some Comforting Chocolates. They really work."

Sniffling, Hermione unlatched from Harry and held onto Ginny. Harry's year-mate pulled off her high-heels before she ambled up the stairs arm in arm with her housemate. All the while Ginny whispered to her in soothing tones. Harry watched until they'd disappeared around the corner at the top of the stairs. He looked at the singing set of armor next to him, only then hearing its Christmas carol. When he turned to the Great Hall, Wynch was already escorting Tracey back to the dance floor. Harry took a very deep breath, leaning his forehead against the cool stone. He felt abandoned, which was rather odd since he knew he could go find Sally-Anne and Theodore if he needed them.

"Vhere is Her-my-oh-nee?" A deep voice asked, startling Harry. "I hav drinks."

Harry turned. With a dark frown on his face, Viktor Krum stood before him, holding goblets of juice. "She was upset by something an exceptionally rude Gryffindor said and went back to her room," Harry told him, "I'm sure she would've said her farewells properly if she had the presence of mind for it."

"This Gryffindor is?" Krum asked darkly, looking fixedly at Harry's jacket.

Harry glanced down to see the drying snot and dark splotches marring the fabric. A hand on his wand, he whispered a gentle Cleaning Charm and the mess faded away. "Ronald Weasley," Harry finally answered. "He was jealous that you asked Hermione out on a date before he did and took his frustration out on her. I stepped in when I thought it might come to blows."

"He is simple boy," Krum said through a snort. "Not man to talk to Viktor." He glanced at the goblets in his hand. "Vell, I am glad hyu helped. Vant drink?"

Harry took the offered cup and took a sip. Feeling no effects of poison or otherwise from the pumpkin juice, he took a larger sip. There were some poisons which were undetectable, so he monitored himself for any numbness. "Thanks." He glanced past the opened front doors of Hogwarts at the fluttering fairy lights beyond. A long silence passed before Harry was certain that the drink meant for Hermione was fine.

Krum shifted, growing surlier. What did he have to be anxious about? Or maybe it was because he could tell that Harry had been suspicious of the drinks. "They hav vonderfful garden. Vant see?"

"Alright," Harry said, following him into the rose garden. The lights were winking and twinkling as they took the steps down to the lawn. They were surrounded by heads-tall bushes, winding ornamental paths, and large stone statues. He could hear splashing water, possibly from a fountain. Here and there couples were sitting on carved benches their heads close together.

Harry took a path that looked less traveled and took a seat on an empty bench, sipping his drink and looking up at the stars and the waning moon.

"Hyu stargaze?"

"I like looking at them… but Astronomy's not my favorite subject," Harry murmured. The night sky almost always had a calming effect of on him. He had never seen it so full of stars before he arrived at Hogwarts. Too much light pollution in Little Whinging only let the brightest shine when he'd peered out through the curtains of the living room those nights that the cupboard had unlocked for him.

The air was filled with intoxicating scents of flowers Harry didn't recognize. A soft breeze pushed through the bushes surrounding them, rustling the leaves. Relaxing, Harry breathed out and enjoyed the moment of silence. Krum seemed content not to spoil it.

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" A voice hissed out breaking that reverie. Immediately Krum straightened and frowned towards the tall hedges in front of him. "It's been getting darker and clearer for months. You can't deny—"

"Then flee," Snape answered curtly, "Flee—I will make your excuses. I, however, must remain here."

Taking that as proof, Harry struck the high master off his list of suspects. If Snape was telling the other adult to run, then chances were Karkaroff had no plot to save his skin and that meant Krum was no danger to Harry.

The two ex-Death Eaters rounded the corner. His moonlit expression most ill-natured, Snape had his wand out to blast rosebushes apart. Squeals issued from many of them, and dark shapes emerged. Professor Snape took away House points from the emerging students, none of whom Harry recognized.

Instead of star-gazing, Harry watched his Head of House send the well-dressed students scurrying from their hiding places after handing out demerits. Harry finished the goblet, setting it down and then happened to look at Krum, who had remained chillingly silent. In the light of a waning gibbous moon, the Durmstrang student was hunched over with an even surlier expression. Harry wondered what was bothering him.

"And what are you two doing?" Professor Snape said nastily, glowering at Harry. Krum kept glancing at Harry and the two adults.

High Master Karkaroff looked discomposed to see them, well… to see Harry in particular. His hand went nervously to his goatee, and he began winding it around his finger.

"I lost my date, and his went back to Gryffindor Tower. Krum suggested we go for a walk in the garden so here we are. I think Professors Flitwick and Sprout have outdone themselves."

There shouldn't have been anything offensive about what Harry said and yet there was a snarl, "Potter,  _walk with me_."

Harry stood and was grabbed by the shoulder when he didn't move fast enough. He stumbled and would've been halfway dragged across the garden if he hadn't recovered his balance. Once they were on the sloping green lawn away from the hedges and people, Snape cast a nonverbal Silencing Ward around them. "You will not tell a soul what you have just heard."

"I won't, sir." Maybe the Potions Master thought Harry might go to the headmaster? "If it helps, I already knew that Karkaroff was a Death Eater, sir."

Glinting in the moonlight, furious black eyes burned and a sneer was cut across Snape's too-pale face. "You have a nasty habit of collecting secrets when your mind is so defenseless," he hissed out.

Harry buttoned his lips with an apologetic air.

"Go back to the dungeons. Prefects should be greeting those who wish to retire early for the night by now. The password is  _victorious._ " Snape abruptly cancelled the ward with a flick of his wand and strode straight towards the nearest rose bushes, splitting them aside. "Fawcett, ten points from Ravenclaw!" A witch rushed away holding her dress robes up so she could run properly. Another shadow darted out behind her, likely her date. "Ten points from Hufflepuff, Stebbie!" He bellowed.

Annoyed, Harry bypassed the rose garden and marched directly into Hogwarts Castle. As he turned to take the stairs down to the Slytherin Dungeons—

"Harry Potter, a moment if you please," an accented voice whipped out.

"Er," he said to the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. "In the common room if that's alright? Professor Snape will be livid if I don't go straight there."

The old wizard nodded and then stepped out of the frame, leaving the enormous landscape of a parlor room with four chairs empty.

At a quick pace, Harry took the steps three or four at a time, nearly twisting an ankle in his rush. He darted down the main corridor and then swung around the corner, tipping over only to recover when he stopped. " _Victorious_!" He said to the Thin Lady who fluttered her fan and opened the portrait.

Harry sprinted through the short passageway and down the steps of the Slytherin common room. Only Wynch was sitting at the chair by the roaring fire in the fireplace; none of Harry's other housemates were around. No surprise there. They were likely still dancing.

"Tracey had no issues?"

Wynch nodded. "We had a chat, danced a bit, and then returned here. I'm sure she's resting now. I expect the others won't be back until midnight when the ball ends."

"Thanks. I didn't expect to have to comfort a friend tonight."

"With stoked passions inflamed by the glitters of a Yule Ball, tempers have a tendency to flare," Salazar Slytherin said from across the room. Stroking his beard, the portrait was watching them with a respectful gaze. From his vantage he could see everything in the common room.

A pit formed in Harry's stomach. He'd been careless. The Founder had already caught Harry out-of-bounds once before. What if the headmaster had told him to spy on Harry when he could? Then he must have witnessed the swearing of a Blood Oath between the two Slytherins as well as Harry's conversation with his godfather. Snape didn't seem to know about Sirius yet, so maybe… And the only other Parselmouth around was the portrait. If the headmaster asked questions about the honor fight between Harry and Yaxley, Salazar could translate Lucy's account. He'd know how tenuous Harry's control was. Unless the bookish portrait hadn't caught sight or hiss of a single Lionsnake yet. Harry had never seen them in the places around the Founder's portrait.

Calm fell over him, and Harry asked, "What was it you wanted?"

"You seem to be in good spirits," the ancient wizard said, "I must confess I do not care for such festivities, particularly the dancing."

"I'd rather face down a dragon any day of the week."

The long-nailed hand stroked his beard. "And comes the matter that I wish to speak to you." The Founder focused his frowning dark green eyes upon Harry. "You have yet to seek my counsel after you were chosen as a champion."

"Ah." Harry was caught flatfooted. "Your counsel?"

The Founder drew himself up, appearing surprised. "Our last meeting ended on less amicable terms than I prefer, but I did not believe that you would refuse to speak to me altogether." The old wizard steepled his hands looking at Harry with a very stern look.

"Er… sorry, sir." Harry looked at the ground, mind racing and tripping over excuses. "If you had noticed by the amount of activity in the common room before the First Task, you'd have known that we had it covered." Though in hindsight that hadn't been enough.

"If you are suggesting that the use of the… Flame-Freezing Charm against dragon-fire was anything more than the desperate attempt of a boy with no other options, then we have differing opinions of what 'covered' entails." Salazar Slytherin gave Harry an unflattering, judgmental look. "Godric would have praised your foolhardiness, no doubt. I, on the other hand, do not find your rash actions as demonstrating the prized qualities of this House. I can sense ambition and deviousness, but it's buried so far beneath a fearful spirit that we may never see it by the time you leave Hogwarts." He raised a hand before Harry could respond. "Of your many fears, your worst is the fear of greatness, young Potter. You made no mention of your infamy among the Isles, that your name had become synonymous with peace."

"I don't  _fear_  it. I don't want to  _be_ great." Harry looked away, crossing his arms. He didn't care if he looked sulky. "I'd rather be treated like anyone else."

"It is the way of the world for mankind to latch onto an idol after a tumultuous period. Don't fool yourself into believing at the possibility of becoming an unknown. You will never be treated like anyone else, not in the land of your birth or even beyond; others would have heard about your survival of the Killing Curse."

"I could live among the Muggles. I'm a nobody there."

Salazar gave him a stony look. "You could and lose your advantageous position." Again the hand raised, and Harry shut his mouth. "With greatness comes the influence to shape the world. Those in positions of power listen to those who are destined for greatness. As was demonstrated at the… ah… Cuaditch World Cup, you provided diplomacy when it was most needed."

Unsure what to say, Harry turned when a group of noisy students walked into the common room. He didn't miss how absorbed Wynch was with their conversation. "I've never heard of accidental diplomacy," Harry said dismissively.

"Read the stories of Sir Cadogan, the wizard-knight of Arthur's court," the Founder suggested with deep irritation. "He is best known for slaying a dragon in a clumsy fashion. Yet, he once unintentionally prevented a broken truce when he stumbled upon the two negotiating parties and spouted a ridiculous solution that would help none but house-elves. Their ire transformed into mutual condescension towards the one known as the jester of King Arthur's court, releasing pent-up frustrations with their sharp tongues upon him. As a result, the negotiations bore fruit and a peace treaty was formed that held until the next Goblin War centuries later."

"Sir Cadogan?" Harry remembered the painting of the short, ill-equipped knight, but he had no idea how important he was. "I've met his portrait. Was he always so fond of quests?"

The old wizard harrumphed. "He was always an energetic fool and easily bored. A surprise that no one's discovered his secret."

"Secret?"

"If you discover it, tell everyone. I daren't expose it." The portrait grimaced.

Harry stepped closer to the portrait. "Why not?"

Salazar Slytherin narrowed his eyes. "If I answered that, it would not be with truth."

"Oh." Seeing his opportunity, Harry slyly said, "Did you know about the Opalescent Lionsnakes?"

" _Opalescent Lionsnakes_ …?" The portrait murmured. "Ah, I have met a breeding pair once. A year past, the headmaster asked if I might greet them. Before then, I had never heard of such a breed. On occasion, their whispers can be heard but they've yet to reveal themselves."

"I've a book about them, too, but I haven't gotten a chance to read it yet."

"Be sure that you do, Herald. They are descended from Basilisks."

Harry paused. "My name isn't short for Harold, though my dad's dad's name was that."

The Founder stared at Harry as if he were daft. Fortunately, Prefect Dedworth stepped out of the girls' stairwell. "Well, Merv, the firsties are all tucked into their beds, second years aren't far behind… Ah, Potter! Have you finished with the references I lent you?"

"References?" Harry echoed. "Oh, the language books. I borrowed them for Mr. Slytherin."

She turned her gaze to the portrait. "Have you finished with them?"

"Miss Dedworth, I had not realized they belonged to you," Salazar said, bowing slightly. "It was most gracious of you to part with them for a time. I thank you."

The prefect calmly curtsied back. "You're welcome. There are a few who wish to learn to better converse with the Beaxubatons students. I've made do with the copies from the library, but I'd really prefer books I'm more familiar with."

"Quite understandable. Collect them from my study, Herald Potter—" Harry's manners training ground his teeth at the name 'Harold'. "—The office is unlocked. Miss Dedworth and Master Wynch may accompany you, if they so wish."

"I'll pass this time," Wynch said. "It wouldn't be prudent if we both disappeared from the common room. Professor Snape would have our heads."

Fiddling with his locket, the portrait nodded sharply.

It was an eager seventh year who followed Harry into the office and watched with avid interest after he told her to step back. Harry hissed loudly to the emerald snake eye embedded in the wall behind the bookcase, " _Blood of my blood may open the_   _way_."

The bookcase and wall swung inward. Cheery fires already burning in wall sconces revealed the Personal Study.

"The rug is a bit unnerving," Harry warned as they stepped into the room lined with shelves of books. It had been aired out liberally since it no longer smelled like a wet basement. The floor and fixtures were no longer coated in dust either. Harry suspected house-elves had been involved. The corner with the training equipment gleamed with racks of freshly polished weaponry and armor. The floor pads had been replaced as well as the rotted, tilting training dummies.

At the very center of the circular room laid a rug with an animated basilisk. As he did before, Harry avoided stepping on the beast as Dedworth did the same. Salazar's back was turned to them, but they could see his head nodding towards someone outside the frame. Harry collected the reference books from the podium. "There you are."

The prefect held them against her front distractedly, her eyes fixed upon the upper walkways of books. "This place is amazing."

"Yeah," he said heading back to the exit, which had swung silently shut without their notice. A complex rune made of silver met his eyes. Harry tilted his head at it.

"I wonder what sorts of rare books he has…" The prefect paused looking at the runic pattern. She quickly tapped different runes in seemingly random places. Before long, the release sigil glowed and the wall swung out. "That sort of rune changes. Must be fun for you to practice what Professor Babbling's taught you." With that the seventh year left, Harry not far after. Two third years were chatting with the Head Boy, but the moment Dedworth appeared the witches conglomerated around her. They seemed tired but excited from the ball.

"Welcome back," the Head Boy said still laid back against the couch. The portrait hung empty in the common room. Harry wondered who the Founder was talking to.

"So," Harry said when he realized that the painting hadn't required an introduction, "The prefects had a long chat with Mr. Slytherin at the beginning of the term?"

" _Lord_  Slytherin, you mean?"

"Right," Harry said with embarrassment, sticking his finger under his necktie to loosen it. "Did you?"

"Yes, Professor Snape introduced us the moment we entered the castle. We were quite shocked to know that you'd woken him up." Wynch smiled. "Did you have a rough night?"

Harry sat across from him. "It wasn't bad after the opening dance. The meal and music were good," he said. "Could've done without Hermione in tears. At least Ginny was there to pry her off of me… Can't believe Tracey smirked at me for it."

"You sound like a regular Casanova, breaking poor girls' hearts."

Hearing the teasing tone in Wynch's voice, Harry leaned his head back on the cushion. "No, I just swept up the pieces. Ron was awful because she went to the ball with Krum. Don't know why he's been such an arse to her."

"Maybe I should've arranged you to go to the ball with Granger instead…" Wynch eyed him thoughtfully.

"We're just friends and I don't need to give Ron another reason to hate me," Harry insisted.

"That sort will find any excuse," the Head Boy advised. "Be yourself. If you like her—"

"Not any more than I like Tracey and Sally-Anne and Theo and Neville and—"

"You don't need to explain yourself. I already understand," the Head Boy teased good-naturedly. "It's a side effect of what we share. I know that the most fulfilling relationships for you at this phase are ones that provide familial and platonic ties."

Harry passed his fingers through his hair. At least someone did. "Why is everyone so obsessed with snogging?"

"Some people find that it feels right. If it doesn't for you, then it's obvious that you shouldn't do it."

"Maybe I'm a late bloomer?"

"Maybe," Wynch said noncommittally.

Harry relaxed, enjoying the soft cushion beneath his head. "Tracey was in a… really, good mood. After all that dancing, she never once touched her scar, so I knew she'd forgotten about it." His voice faded as he grew fuzzier. "Ginny looked wonderful. Perfect in that dress. Was she happy?"

"I daresay she was impetuously ecstatic, your Grace."

Eyes closed, Harry smiled. "Thanks for arranging things, Wynch."

"When it's just the two of us, you  _can_  call me Merv."

He didn't want to do that; it seemed disrespectful to call someone older than him by their first name… Lulled by its crackling flames, Harry dozed off by the warmth of the fireplace.


	14. Phrenic Darkness

She was perched on the top of a chair, an observer until called upon. Her Master's fingers were stroking the lustrous scales along her lower back. There was Master's most faithful servant, a dark-haired wizard who had only just arrived after disappearing without word for months, kneeling. A tired whimper sounded from a squat cage large enough to hold Master's caretaker. Master growled, "Quiet, Bertha," and the softly emitted noises ceased.

The room was made of stone and lacked any sort of decoration. It smelled musty, old and stale. She knew they were underground, like a rabbit in its warren, always in danger of attack. She had scoured her scales across the ground, searching, questing for Master's enemies, but the room in question lacked visible openings of any sort. If not for Master's clumsy caretaker, she may have fallen into a fasting sleep and become useless.

"Let me see it again," Master commanded.

The short-haired wizard pulled up the sleeve of his jacket. There was a brand, easily four inches long and two across; a skull with its mouth open had a lesser snake slipping out of it. Its body twisted into the sign of infinity. The head of the snake close to the wrist swiveled, animated for a moment and then stilled.

" _Ah_ ," their Master hissed warmly, "Yes, the time of my rebirth grows closer…"

There was a momentary flutter of panic within Nagini before it settled. It was likely the dank chill of this place. There was no warm fire here to keep her Master warm.

A shrunken, gnarled hand reached out. "Nagini, come. I sense something  _different_ …"

She slithered down the side of the rickety chair and pressed her warmth receptors against the tiny fingers. " _Master?"_

"Nagini…  _Look into my eyes,_ " Master commanded, and she obeyed. Small, slitted red-eyes met her visage, her lovely Master, and then those tiny eyes widened.

 _Harry_ …  _Potter_ …? An empty voiceless whisper sounded. Nagini's coils contracted as she remembered the slight boy with the curse-scar above his brow. Master's sworn enemy had released her from the Muggle prison of beasts, moons and moons ago; perhaps Master was well enough to be curious about where her imprisonment lay. This seemed promising for she had grown weary of the cold, plant-less room which was many times worse than the Muggle prison.

The kneeling wizard asked, "What is it, Master?"

" _Oh_! Yes,  _yes_.  _That's how Dumbledore's done it_!" Master hissed, stroking the sides of her scales with delightfully warm hands. "Clever using  _that_  against me."

" _I am glad that I have pleased you, Master_ …" Nagini whispered, luxuriating in the feel of Master's fingers. There had been a time when he could not do so, clinging to her scales in a wraith-like state soon after he had discovered her, whispering commands into her mind.

"Yes, Nagini, you have done well. Now, I shall give our unexpected guest a proper greeting…"

A tongue forked out, tasting the air. Nagini sensed no intruders…?

"Guest?" The kneeling servant echoed softly, pulling out his wand with an eager smirk.

"Put that away. The wards will notify me if any were so foolish to trespass," sneered the Master. The red eyes leaned closer, and the tiny mouth opened revealing few teeth. " _Harry Potter, you've possessed my precious Nagini… Had I known that you had come to your senses and wished to serve Lord Voldemort it would have simplified matters immensely._ "

 _Why would I serve you? I hate you._ Harry's voice wavered in that grey space between awake and asleep.

The infant with the flat face of Voldemort leaned closer. "My greatest enemy is aging, withering away. I on the other hand cannot die. My coming reign is inescapable."

 _You won't win; I won't let you._ That sent the infant crowing shrilly with laughter. Harry tried to move away from the twisted thing, but Nagini's body didn't budge.  _I'm asleep. This isn't real. You're not real. This is just another bloody nightmare._

" _Yes…"_ The caricature of an infant hissed, its chubby face filled with amused malice. _"Yes, it's only a dream, Harry… don't you fret._ " The baby's laughter was high, cackling madly. The very sound of it shot fear through Harry. The servant didn't interfere while Voldemort conversed mostly in Parseltongue. " _Now, who do you believe put your name in the Goblet of Fire? I find myself rather curious…_ "

 _Not Karkaroff, he's leaving the country soon_ , Harry replied impulsively. For a dream, this was strangely vivid.  _Could be Severus Snape?_ Harry hissed at himself. _No, that's stupid. He was furious when my name came out._

The red-eyed infant threw its head back with a gurgle. "A  _dreadful_  guess. Of course he would not want you maimed during the contest for he would know you are more valuable to me unharmed. I confess I've missed dear Severus… He must loathe serving Dumbledore so  _faithfully_ these many years. How he must have desired to laugh when he announced he was Dumbledore's spy all along, after my disappearance! Such a sweet story for the unsettled chattel, newly delirious with false peace." Harry's unease grew at the gummy smile. "I expected no less from Severus. What use is a mad Potions Master to Lord Voldemort?"

The kneeling servant seemed troubled by the mention of Snape. "Nothing, my lord."

"Correct!" The tiny hands flapped in some bizarre miming of a clap. "A genius of his caliber who requires no  _external_ motivation to please me is hard to come by indeed."

_Is the impostor pretending to be Professor Moody?_

"Ah-ah, Harry. I'm afraid you must be exorcised… My plans for you will be a  _surprise_!" The evil wizard's voice was high-pitched and gleeful and then words rolled off his tongue so quickly that they melded together. A flash of light overtook Nagini, and Harry woke with a start.

 _No_ , Harry thought as he clasped his hand against his forehead where the scar was burning fiercely.  _NO!_

 ** _Yes, you fool_** _,_  the soul-shard whispered.  ** _You should know the difference between dreams and visions by now._**

"You all right, Harry?" It was Theodore, standing in the moonlight. He pressed Harry's Glaxxes into his hands which Harry put on though it was too dark to make out more than dim outlines. "You were flailing."

Sweat-soaked, Harry trembled. He'd thought the Torpor Rune would prevent such a vision from occurring, but apparently he'd been wrong. Tears stung his eyes, and he ground the heel of his palm into his painful scar.

**_When Lord Voldemort collects you for his resurrection, he will know precisely what we are. For that reason alone—_ **

_Shut up, you cursed thing!_ Harry pushed to the edge of the bed, forcing himself to stand. "He knows," he whispered, any sense of calm shattered at the brokenness of his tone. He slumped against the windowsill looking across the faintly moonlit greens outside.

Tilting his head, Theodore blinked. "Who?"

"You-Know-Who  _knows_  about the…" He gestured to his stinging forehead. "That I've been spying on him."  _And thankfully little else_.  ** _For now_** , the voice hissed eagerly. Harry nearly punched the wall. _SHUT UP._ He could feel its amusement roiling under his clammy skin.

With a loud exhale, Theodore leaned against the wall next to him, but said nothing as he frowned. He knew nothing of the whole, sinister truth. Harry was afraid to say it.  ** _Won't make it any less true…_**

"What do I do, Theo?" Harry's strained whispering was twisted with fear, and tears had begun to stream down his face. He turned away, scrubbing at his face. A werewolf's night vision was rivaled only by Vampires. It wasn't as if Theodore hadn't seen him cry before, but it was embarrassing. The act made him feel small like he hadn't felt since entering Hogwarts, snot and tears mingling in a disgusting symphony of fear.

"We can't keep mum," Theodore said quietly. "You need to tell Professor Snape."

Harry shook his head vehemently. "Can't…  _I can't_." Everything was beginning to feel flat and distant now. The wintry cold of the stone wall was seeping into his skin, but gave no relief to the burning sensation of his scar.  _It_  was giggling with a dark madness that sent feverish chills through Harry. No doubt it was anticipating the moment that they were captured.  _He'll kill me, and you with me._  It giggled out,  ** _Will he?_**

"If you don't tell him, I will," Theodore promised, his eyes glinting when they caught the faint light from the window in the darkness. "I know you're scared, and you have every right to be, but he won't send you to St. Mungo's for it… Look at me. He allows someone like me to attend. I thought after the way he treated—Well. I thought I would be no different, chucked out to fend for myself."

"It wasn't like before… the vision. He forced me out of Nagini. Said I possessed her." Harry shivered, clutching his elbows. Part of him wanted to fight, prove the Dark Lord wrong and find a way to blast him to pieces.  _But he's already in pieces_ , his logic reminded him as the dark humor of the soul-shard chafed against Harry's raw mind.  _You're proof of that._ A small giggle escaped him, half-curdled before it left his throat.

Theodore helped him stand from his stiff perch against the windowsill, and Harry leaned into the warmth feeling cold and drained. Their distance to the door shortened, and Harry's eyes began to water once more. His forehead hadn't stopped its vicious burning. He forced his palm against it, wishing it would stop.

 ** _Lord Voldemort is probing the connection_** **,** the voice crooned.  ** _Testing its limits…Can't expect him to leave such a tantalizing prize alone… Not in the heart of his enemy's territory._**

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as nausea flooded through him. "No," he croaked weakly in agreement.

Hugging an arm around his middle, Theodore said, "Professor Snape will know what to do. And if he doesn't he can get the headmaster."

All throughout the soft whispers their roommates hadn't wakened. The two shuffled out. The downward spiral added to the nausea. Harry made his best mate stop whenever the stairs leveled off to settle his stomach and catch his breath. It was easier to take the steps with his eyes closed, even as the sconces flickered quickly by behind his eyelids. After they exited the dormitory stairwell and crossed the common room, Theodore knocked on the office door. No one answered. "Well," he said, "Guess we'll go straight to the source."

A loud knock resounded in the common room after Theodore had cast a jinx at the wall between the two columns. Since the pain of his scar had petered off a bit, Harry dropped his hand from his forehead and gave Theodore a strange look. He hadn't thought anybody else had known that there were bedchambers hidden behind that wall.

"The Head Boy told me where to find Snape, just in case I needed him," Theodore said lightly.

Moments later, the wall ground open, and the beak-nosed bastard with rumpled greasy hair looked at them with glittering eyes. Only the time Harry had spent over two summers with the Potions Master revealed the adult's sudden rousing. "This had better be an emergency," Snape growled lowly, "Because at the moment, neither of you appear to be having one."

"Get back to your  _beauty sleep_  then, since you get so little," Harry sniped, arms wrapped around his middle though it did nothing for the cold. At the adult's stony stare for his cheek, Harry turned to go back to his room, but Theodore snagged an arm about him and pulled him back.

"Harry is connected to the Dark Lord through his scar," Theodore said succinctly as if he were talking about the weather. That tone seemed like a fallback strategy to prevent panic. Harry hated that it worked.

Professor Snape did not give any indication of what his thoughts contained; anything he might have been feeling was hidden behind a vast blank calmness. His stare gave the chilling appearance of a dead man. "Tap your wand against this." He drummed a stained finger against a small rune, and a bell chimed behind him. "Less effort than a noisy jinx," he sneered and pulled into his bedchambers.

"Sorry, sir," Theodore said. "Didn't see it."

Their professor snorted meanly. "Are you waiting for an invitation?"

Scowling, Harry didn't make a move, but because Theodore was half-supporting him he was pushed into what were once Lord Slytherin's Chambers.

Inside, the air was warm, almost to the point of being uncomfortable after the chill of the common room. The walls were covered with dark green silk curtains, and everywhere they looked there were books upon books upon books all neatly shelved. Furniture was sparse and made of finely crafted dark-polished wood. Harry saw a single writing desk, a large four-poster bed—similar to the one he had seen on Spinner's End—at the back of the room with a small bedside table, and a massive wardrobe. With one glance Harry could tell which place their Head of House preferred to live.

"Sit," Professor Snape commanded, gesturing to a single table set before a massive fireplace with four different styles of chairs.

Theodore pushed Harry into the closest chair which was yellow and striped with black. It was shaped like a wickerbasket with low arms and a tall padded back and was very comfortable. His friend took the red-and-gold divan next to Harry, sinking into it easily.

Remaining on his feet, Snape pointed his wand at the dying fire on the grate, and it leaped up with a roaring ferocity. Without turning towards them, he said aloud, "Tea for three."

Three teacups, a large teapot, and containers with sugar-cubes and cream appeared on the table. Theodore reached forward and poured them a cup, adding sugar and cream to Harry's. His friend took a long sip. In the bright light of the fire, Theodore appeared both worried and frightened.

Harry took a sip of his tea. "Soft lemon biscuits," he whispered to the air. A plate popped into existence, and he picked up one of the baked, yellow-iced biscuits and took a large bite. It was chewy and nearly melted in his mouth. He relaxed a little, reminded of Nanua's cooking.

"The headmaster is aware that Potter's scar resonates with the Dark Lord's presence. Why do you believe informing me of this is a dire emergency?" The black-robed wizard growled, facing the blazing fire.

The words lodged in Harry's throat, so he drank more tea to force them back down. The pressure in his scar was receding but not enough for him to be comfortable speaking secrets.  _It_ had calmed, though Harry felt its awareness prickling in the back of his mind.

Glancing towards Harry, Theodore decided not to let the silence go on. "It's not a simple resonance, sir. Harry's had visions of the Dark Lord…"

" _Visions_?" The black-robed form turned, scoffing as if that were a ludicrous proposition. "More likely they are mere dreams of a taxed, overactive imagination, nothing more."

Harry ground his jaw down as his hands twisted the teacup noisily on its saucer.  ** _You only wish_   _it were so, Severus_**. Harry mentally slammed the door on the voice as he had always done before. Bloody thing had surpassed Harry's limit of creepy; the soul-shard's whisper managed to mix wistfulness with impatience as if Harry was a pitiful obstacle between it and its servant.

Theodore's eyes flicked towards Harry again with dawning realization that Harry wasn't going to speak in his defense. "His scar hurts, after he's had them, after the Dark Lord casts Unforgivables… Harry knew about Bertha Jorkins' disappearance before anyone else, that something was going to happen at the Quidditch World Cup but…" A shadow passed over Theodore's face as he placed his teacup back into its saucer. "Tonight was different, sir. The Dark Lord was aware of his presence."

There was silence as their gazes turned unerringly towards Harry. The champion gulped down the tea, trying not to think that the pain of his scar was Voldemort trying to access his mind and failing.

Their Head of House had a decidedly pinched look to him as he bit out, "Potter, how many of these  _visions_  have you had?"

"Seven, sir," he said meekly. Turning his head with an unnatural quickness towards Harry, Theodore looked stunned to hear it, and Harry felt guilty for it.

His best friend's reaction wasn't missed. A deep frown settled on the adult's features. He already knew Harry's propensity to keep secrets. "And when did they start…?"

"A month before the Quidditch Final, I dreamt I was Nagini, a large constrictor, and Vo—You-Know-Who and a servant he called Weaver were there and he was interrogating Bertha Jorkins about the Triwizard Tourney and the Quidditch World Cup..." Harry's nausea roiled in his belly and swam in his brain. "And then I woke up when he gained control over her."

"He didn't just wake up, sir. His scar was in screaming pain without any physical sign of it hurting," Theodore added, not caring that Harry didn't want to share that.

"I thought it was a fluke," Harry whispered to his cream-colored tea, "And then a few days before the World Cup it happened again… he was planning to off someone with the same servant. He wanted to get to me… he talked about a faithful servant in Hogwarts to help with his plot, and then he murdered a Muggle gardener named Bryce who'd wandered in..." Harry swallowed convulsively. "I sent a letter to the headmaster then… about the dreams… but he never… he didn't write back. Not until later." It was then Harry realized why; he'd asked the headmaster to respond  _only_   _if there was nothing to fret over_. No news had been bad news, but Harry hadn't wanted to think of it.

"And the others?"

"One dealt with a man named Mundungus Fletcher. Voldemort tortured and killed him. The others were about Hestia Jones. After he was done with her, he murdered her too." Harry's furtive glance revealed a white-faced Theodore who looked ready to toss the tea he'd drunk. Harry looked back at his tea and biscuits. "I wrote Professor Dumbledore like before. You-Know-Who fled Little Hangleton because of them."

"And… tonight…?" Snape's voice was cold as death and the stare was unwavering.

Harry looked at the floor and his breathing hitched. "You-Know-Who spoke to me. Through Nagini. Somehow he could tell. That I was there." Harry's shoulders hunched, though his voice remained soft and calm. "I'd interrupted a meeting with another servant; it wasn't Weaver like before. This one was younger." Everything felt strangely hollowed out in the terrifying silence that followed, as if this were happening to another person, not Harry. "I didn't know it was real," not-Harry said with the same emptiness he'd felt before facing the dragon.

Professor Snape came forward, and Harry's wickerbasket chair slid to face him. Black robes billowed, firelight seemingly absorbed by the thick material. "Show me." Black eyes met green, and a wand was raised. " _Legilimens!"_

Pain blossomed through Harry's skull as magic forced the memories he'd rather snuff out to the surface.

_— Let me see it again," Master said._

_—The short-haired man pulled up the sleeve of his jacket. There was a brand… a skull with its mouth open a snake slipping out of it…_

_"Ah," her Master hissed warmly, "Yes, the time of my rebirth grows closer"—_

"I need you to concentrate on the servant—the kneeling wizard," said the kneeling sallow-faced man.

"Servant?" came the faint murmur, thinking of—

 _"Legilimens!_ "

 _—_   _The red-eyed infant threw its head back with a gurgle._ —

_"—I confess I've missed dear Severus… He must loathe serving Dumbledore so faithfully.—"_

"Not me, you daft boy! The one who showed the Dark Lord his Mark! I need to see his face!"

"But I didn't look closely," he mumbled, eyes watering from the pain.

" _Legilimens!_ "

_— Her Master's fingers were stroking the lustrous scales of her lower body—There was Master's most faithful servant, a dark-haired wizard who had only just arrived kneeling by the Master—_

_—The kneeling servant startled. "Nothing, my lord."—_

Snape spat out, "Useless! I can't be sure—!" He paced before the fire, far beyond agitated.

Released by the spell, Harry slumped into the chair. "I'm sorry," he whispered, cradling his aching head. He hoped the man wouldn't try again. Light was excruciatingly painful at the moment.

"Who is it? Who's the servant?" Theodore's voice was thick with concern.

"If I'm not mistaken, someone who should be dead," Snape murmured. Harry could hear the man's boots scuff the floor as he continued to pace.

"Like Pettigrew was supposed to be dead?" His friend sounded very irritated.

"No. There was a corpse, but to have fooled the Ministry…"

"You mean it was an inside job," Theodore said flatly. Harry cracked an eye open and saw Snape's back before Harry had to shut it again. The adult was turned away from them, staring into the fire.

"Whether it was or wasn't isn't your concern," their Head of House said, raising his voice to be heard more clearly, "Escort Potter to bed and force a sleeping draught down his throat. Have him take it every night thereafter. That should prevent any future incursions into another mind."

"Won't he get addicted, sir?"

"That is the  _least_  of his concerns if he's traipsing right into the hands of the Dark Lord," the Potion Master snapped. "Now,  _go_."

Arms lifted Harry, and he obediently left with Theodore. Harry was no longer processing what was happening around him, fully disconnected from his surroundings as they passed into the common room. The door ground shut behind them. If only he could stop thinking altogether…

 ** _That can be arranged_** **,**  came a hiss. Harry's breathing shuddered as he latched onto Theodore, teeth chattering.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Stopping outside the boys' stairwell, Theodore wrapped his arms about Harry and held him as he had when under the influence of DD. Without anyone else to witness it, Harry found it comforting; Theodore acted towards Harry like Harry did towards Neville, like an older brother. It would've been uplifting in better circumstances.

"I have to tell you and Sally-Anne something, something dangerous and important, but I can't. Not yet." Harry said to his shoulder, forcing silly thoughts into his head. It was another tactic he'd discovered would shrug the soul-shard's grip from him. So he thought about how he might have to imbibe Leg-Lengthening Potions if he ever intended to catch up to his roommates. That did the trick as the dark tendrils receded enough that he could think about his friends. The resulting joy slammed the barrier between it and him again.

"About the visions?" Theodore's chest rumbled the question.

"The reason behind them," Harry answered truthfully. Once he was no longer freezing, he pulled away and made himself grin. "Thanks, Theo. Without you and Sally-Anne around, I don't think I could've managed." He poured every ounce of gratitude he felt into that statement.

His friend smiled back with wary worry glinting from his steel blue eyes from the low fire burning in the sconces in the stairwell. "Anytime. Let's head upstairs. Professor Snape'll have my head if you don't take the draught."

"Is it really addictive?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs. He felt much better, having expected worse from their Head of House.

"Yes, and too long on Dreamless Sleep you'll become an insomniac," Theodore whispered. "Eventually, sleep won't come even if you try other draughts."

Harry gave him a suspicious look. "Did Draco tell you that?"

"Mate's been worried about you. He noticed you haven't been taking it. Found the vials in your desk a couple weeks back and noticed that their numbers hadn't dwindled. Bit of a relief actually."

Quietly, they entered their dormitory, using the moonlight from the windows to guide them. Leaving his glasses on his desk, Harry took a corked vial from where he'd stored the lot of them in a drawer. He lay down, covering himself before he popped it open and drank it back.

Warm fingers snatched the vial from Harry's before it fell, and he was sucked under.

* * *

The next morning before they left their room for breakfast, Draco turned to Harry with the air of someone who knew what the answer was already going to be. Crabbe and Goyle were muttering at one another.

"I know what you're going to ask," Harry said, baring his teeth. He'd woken up in a foul mood; the scar had yet to cease its prickling.

"Oh?"

"Tracey and I went as friends. We weren't dating, but she did excuse me as her dance partner to go support a distraught friend," Harry ground out.

Draco narrowed his eyes, assessing him. "Did the Head Boy teach you Legilimency between your lessons on Occlumency?"

"No, after four years I know how your mind works," Harry said simply. He turned to Theodore. "Ready yet?"

"Yeah." Theodore was leaned against his desk; he too looked at Harry cautiously. For a moment the light in his eyes seemed closed off, possibly thinking of the night before, and then a blink later his laidback manner was back.

"I know Tracey was miffed that I backed out of dancing with her, but she knew the terms of our agreement. We went unattached." Harry felt defensive when Draco gave him a flat stare of disapproval. As if the prat had anything meaningful to say; Pansy hadn't looked like she had enjoyed herself after the first dance, and yet Harry knew that the two had continued on into the night.

"Ah. Is  _that_ what that was?" His friend said with a grin, appearing surprised. Harry shot him a questioning look. "We saw how you ran away from her. You looked relieved to be rid of her."

"It wasn't her fault that I didn't like the dance," Harry stated. "Now let's go before my stomach digests itself."

Crabbe lightly thumped Harry's back with a wide smile and noise of approval.

"Best idea I heard all mornin'," Goyle grunted.

For the next day and a half, Harry hardly left his room burying himself in wand-practice and endless essays. The mandatory meals were the only thing that brought him out. He was jumpier, edgy and distrustful, as his eyes landed on the staff beyond the ones he knew couldn't be the servant. His godfather had vouched for Madam Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall, but Harry's last vision absolved Snape any wrongdoing as well. His friends were concerned, but they couldn't do anything about it. Nothing permanent at any rate, and Draco's leads dealing with the mole proved fruitless.

Tracey seemed in relatively bright spirits despite how the Yule Ball ended for her. She had greeted Harry every time she saw him, her scar prominent along the curve of her face and neck. When Harry's eyes lingered there the first time, Tracey's face had pinked a little as she cleared her throat and he hurriedly looked away. "Sorry, I was surprised you went without enchantments."

Walking on either side of Harry, Theodore and Sally-Anne were exchanging loaded glances

Shooting a warning look at her friends, Tracey smiled at Harry's words. For the moment her shyness was forgotten. "I decided that there was nothing to be ashamed about my face." She looked pointedly towards Daphne and Pansy. Bulstrode hung behind them reading, finding the entire conversation too boring to participate in.

Sally-Anne stepped forward to grasp both of Tracey's hands. "I'm glad for you."

"I know," came the breathy whisper. "Thank you. Seeing you resist modifications has helped."

The returning grin from the shorter witch was blinding. "I'm lucky to have my own pillar of support." Though Sally-Anne hadn't turned, Tracey's eyes flickered towards Theodore with slight envy.

Harry felt odd at the surprising seriousness of the conversation. "Not worried about what others would think?" He teased Tracey gently as Sally-Anne pulled away. Pansy blinked and glanced at Tracey and Harry as if something had only then occurred to her. Then she cast her eyes towards Daphne with a significant nod towards Harry. Daphne scowled and crossed her arms.

Before Harry could ferret out what the two were communicating, Tracey shot him an annoyed look and said, "They can think or say whatever they please. I'm tired of being someone I'm not. If  _they_ don't like it,  _they_ don't have to associate with me. Conformity is hardly a path towards  _greatness_."

Daphne sniffed loudly at this as if that statement were easily disputed. Harry and his friends hadn't missed the jealous looks Daphne was giving Tracey, and neither did Tracey or Pansy since both smiled as if her jealousy was cause of great satisfaction to the both of them.

Catching Tracey's grey eyes, he said, "I'm sorry about running off like that." Harry thought he ought to mention it since even Sally-Anne had asked him cryptic questions about the Yule Ball and Tracey once he'd descended the stairs with Theodore.

"No need, champion. I meant what I said when I told you to go help your friend. She obviously needed it with a jealous git like that yelling foul insinuations at her." Tracey and her friends had expressions which darkened at that. Book closed, Bulstrode's thick upper lip had curled in distaste at the reference to Hermione. "Had I known what was going on I would've hexed him," Tracey said definitively, startling the others around her. "Who does he think he is telling Granger who she can fraternize with? They aren't more than friends, though it's obvious what  _his_  true intentions are."

"Thankfully, Harry's coolheaded approach worked well," Pansy said smoothly, though she looked taken aback. "Or so I heard." Her dark blue eyes flashed towards Tracey. Harry wondered how the witches' friendship would hold with one of them defending a Muggle-born so fiercely, especially given Pansy and Bulstrode's dislike of Hermione. He hoped that whatever quarrel they had with her was petty and easily forgiven. He hadn't witnessed any bullying on their parts towards Hermione in ages, but that didn't mean it wasn't happening. For once, Harry thought it would be nice if they took the initiative so he didn't have to tell them to stop being vile to others.

With that, the witches excused themselves, leaving Harry with his friends who were equally understanding when Harry said he had too much homework to do to take a walk. After breakfast he had gone back to his dormitory with a group of third years just as Draco and Pansy began to argue about something Draco had done. Harry didn't stick around to find out what that was about.

Two days after Voldemort's discovery of the link between them, Harry had been summoned to Snape's office after lunch. Inside, he stood uneasily, eyes flicking to the shelves of books and pickled potions ingredients. "Yes, sir…?"

"The headmaster insists that you begin Occlumency lessons immediately." Seated, the greasy-haired professor was looking as if he had swallowed a stinkbug. His hand was resting on the desk as he gazed sourly at the lamp sitting on the corner instead of Harry.

"Right this second…?" Harry's skull throbbed at the thought of another intrusion mere days after the first. The stubborn set of Snape's shoulders told Harry there could be no delay. "But after that vision, I can barely keep my mind clear," he said.

The Potions Master looked completely unsympathetic. "Regardless, you will agree."

Harry would hardly refuse; he'd already asked for the lessons weeks prior, just not so soon and certainly without the threat of another intrusion by an evil mind hanging over his head.

"Now," Snape continued in that cadence that always managed to aggravate Harry, "This will not be an ordinary lesson. I, however, expect you to call me sir or professor at all times."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, turning his stare upon the adult though he'd rather raise a box of Skrewts by himself than do so.

Snape surveyed him through narrowed eyes for a moment and then stood, running fingers over a book on his desk. "At present, the Dark Lord has access to your mind. The headmaster aims to end that with Occlumency training, which I'm sure you know is the Indescribable Art of sealing one's mind from magical intrusion and influence—"

"Indescribable Art, sir?" Harry interrupted, never having heard of that before in all his studies on magical branches.

There was an irritated sigh. "Yes, Potter. It's an obscure field with few skillful practitioners. This branch of magic cannot be taught or learned through discourse or correspondence. Only through dedicated observation, pointed demonstration, and deliberate practice can you obtain Mastery of an Indescribable Art." Snape looked slightly bored now, "Occlumency's counterpart is Legilimency of which the Dark Lord is Master. He can influence any mind to show him what he desires to know. This is not a simple task, since Legilimency is  _not_  what Muggles call mind-reading. The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure—"

"The mind is a complex and many-layered apparatus," Harry recited to him, "Wynch already told me that, sir."

"Well, well. I see he's saved me some trouble." Snape paused. His hand lifted, compulsively plucking a quill up to inspect. "And I'm sure Augusta has explained to you that a skilled Occlumens can shut down their true feelings and memories to lie convincingly or shield important secrets…?"

For all intents and purposes, Snape did not appear to look forward to teaching Harry; the adult was dithering around. Harry only knew this from his stay at Spinner's End. He'd seen it happen before. After training him in survivalist skills for two weeks, Snape had displayed the same agitation once they had Apparated to the middle of woods somewhere outside of Britain where snow laid thickly when it should've been summer. Harry had only a borrowed knife, his quarterstaff, and the clothes on his back in possession. ' _Survive here without magic_ ,' the man had said what felt like ages ago, ' _and maybe you will survive when the Dark Lord rises._ ' The confidence Harry had gained from that harsh week had given him the courage to tackle the Longbottom Forest, and he had been rewarded with a pair of Lionsnakes. He knew the results of these lessons would end much the same though it was certain to be very unpleasant. Harry nodded at the standing wizard because he already knew Occluding one's memories was the whole point.

"Your main objective is to master Occlumency to repel the Dark Lord's inevitable intrusions into your mind. I will begin first by learning your mind and its natural projections. You will need to know your own mind before you can even grasp how to deceive a Master Legilimens. Do you understand?"

Since an Indescribable Art was probably indescribable once one was past the basics, Harry didn't bother asking for more details. "Alright, sir."

"Center yourself and clear out your thoughts and feelings." With a slight sneer, Snape's pitiless eyes met his. "To the best of your ability."

Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated on letting his anxieties and worries go until he was… him, like Luna had tried to explain, but hadn't really. He hadn't understood her until he'd reached that place himself, hadn't understood that there was a difference between centering and disconnecting. He centered himself as Wynch had taught him, until Harry stood as himself, as he was without any pretenses of thoughts or memories troubling him. When he opened his eyes, Snape pointed a grey wand in his face. It didn't look like the wand the Potions Master usually used to set potions.

_"Legilimens!"_

Harry was shrouded in a thick white fog. Looking down, he saw smooth, tan stone plummeting to water—a moat maybe? Despite the fog, there was the unmistakable black form of Professor Snape, a figure in the distance. Far off, Harry heard the droning of cicadas while thunder foretold the coming of a summer storm. Harry looked up and saw lightning flicker through the dark grey, fluffy clouds roiling above him, swollen with rain. He centered himself before he was swallowed by memories of summer gardening. The smell of freshly turned dirt and mown grass nearly overwhelmed him, but he let the memories pass undisturbed. "Where are we, sir? In my mind?"

The wizard snorted as if this were a ridiculous proposition. "This place is not a  _where_ , but a  _what_. It is merely a reflection of your mind. If I were in your mind, you would know it." His loud voice echoed oddly, as if it were only mimicked sound. "There are many variants of Legilimency to expose weaknesses without needing to delve into memories. This is one of them." The wizard was peering down as he walked at a curve towards Harry, as if Harry was standing atop something at the center of an immense circle. The longer the adult did this the louder the sounds of summer became.

"This is how my mind looks?"

Snape paused and said with condescension. "Didn't I tell you specifically that this is an Indescribable Art? Even if I were to describe the symbols your mind uses they would not match your perceptions."

"There's a lot of fog, and you're near a moat. What do you see?" Harry honestly wanted to know.

"Smoke threaded through the wilds of a forest. At my feet lies a fathomless mirror already cracked and mended countless times," Snape said waspishly. "Any Legilimens of skill would see that as a weak point of yours. You don't even have the common sense to afford it even a little cover." Without giving Harry a chance to answer, he immediately returned to inspecting the moat. "At least you have learned the basics and calmed your mind." The black-robed form stopped abruptly, peering down intently as if he'd found something of note.

Curiosity lighted next to Harry as a golden sparkling firefly but he didn't let himself touch it.  _I am myself and nothing more_ , he reminded himself and it disappeared in a poof of glitter. "What is it, sir?"

"It's as if..." the bastard murmured and then said nothing continuing his slow walk, causing Harry to turn to keep an eye on him. The adult shook his head and a cascade of greasy black strands of hair flopped over his ears, "No matter. You have succeeded in partitioning yourself from your active mind. Once I have finished exploring your weaknesses, we will move to the stages of Defensive Projection. Once that is mastered, then onto Deceitful Projection. Only the best Occlumens can project what they wish others to see and hold it as if it were their true self."

Frustration roiled up and a geyser burst forth clouding the white mist purple, but Harry released the emotion and the geyser was no more. "How would I do that, sir?"

Pausing, Snape looked up with sour annoyance as his figure warped, his robes taking on the quality of black feathers and his nose growing inhumanly pointed. "Quite simply imagine what you wish to project and believe it to be true."

The sound of bubbling mud splurted behind Harry as his irritation simmered. He could hardly blame the man for such vague answers; it was likely the nature of this sort of magic. "You make it sound _easy_. I can barely maintain this… sir."

"So it appears…" Figure snapping back to normal, Snape glanced down at something before his feet. "Potter, I will penetrate your memories, and you will attempt to resist. I have heard that you have aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse… You will find that a similar mindset is needed here." And then Professor Snape took a step forward, and the white fog swirled and dispersed as if blown away by a violent wind.

Harry could hear wind instruments, playing in juxtaposition to the summer sounds. He was no musician but he could hear at least two, a mournful flute and a sedate oboe. Below was no moat, but a lake filled with dark-grey water, its surface eerily still. Snape's booted feet were standing on slick, moss-covered river stones, some distance from the water. Without the fog, Harry could see that the tan stone he stood upon was part of a circular monolithic structure, sort of like a pillar with no path down from where he was.

Where he thought would be sturdy edifices were instead gravity-defying pools of bubbling mud and hot springs. One of them had a dark center where the geyser must have shot from. Harry took a deep breath. He could smell the dankness of the office, but he also smelled something that wasn't smell, but memory. A sharp and metallic smell, that of lightning and thunder, a heavy pewter-colored cloud not long from dropping its burden. The taste nearly swamped him as it reminded him of the peaceful memory of hands working moist dark soil in water-thick air. Before Dudley and his gang spoiled it all by trampling the carefully weeded garden, ruining the delicate flowers within.

As Harry lost focus, the water and mud spilled over his feet scalding his toes. Anger shot through him at his thoughtless cousin before he regained control. He controlled his breathing as he remembered Luna's words coaching him through the overrunning emotions. ' _You aren't your emotions. Don't stand in their way! Let them pass,_ ' the memory of her whispered giddily, and the unrelenting anger continued on without Harry, draining off the pillar with surprising promptness.

Beneath his feet, the stone had grown veins of dark violet and pulsed with inner light. Harry stared at it, mystified at the sudden change. Like blood the glowing substance oozed forth and a tiny, magenta rosebud pushed up from one of the veins. Slowly its petals began to open, growing wider into a camellia, a scentless flower that Harry had never had the privilege of growing in Petunia's garden.

 ** _Hello, Harry_** , a charming voice said, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

The flower opened with a hiss of rubbing petals. The sight of its center, lacking the expected stamens, sent lightning spearing over the Harry's head, crackling the air with his fear and raising hairs over the rest of him. Between the large petals was a slitted red eye fixed on him.

 ** _I see you_** **,**  it crooned.  ** _Have you grow tired of fighting me?_**

Fighting panic as the icy substance oozed over his feet, Harry summoned memories of his friends forward. Sand crawled up the sides of the tower.  _Center and ground_ , Harry chanted as he heard soundless laughter. The stone beneath shivered, but held together as the sand covered the ooze. Harry yanked his red-stained feet out, one at a time and the sand hardened to cement.

His breath misted at the sudden cold snap that followed. Harry's fingers tightened around the threadbare clothing he wore. He glanced at them; Dudley's castoffs hung off his frame. No amount of focus transformed the clothing nor did a whispered Warming Charm help. After wearing proper clothes for so long, Harry felt nearly disrobed. Something went off with a loud BANG, startling Harry out of the panic he'd been swept into. The suffocating mudslide ceased. Spitting out muck, it wasn't until he squinted past his mud-caked glasses that he realized he was barely holding onto the ledge of the pillar.

There was another loud BANG. Harry yanked his head to the side and saw a black-feathered, two-legged beast. Feathers stuck out from beneath a skull-cap still connected to an avian's bony face. " _Potter. Focus_ ," the hideous creature screeched, dropping pickled eyes to the ground from its beak. The slitted-red eyes sprouted tendrils to direct their rolling back under the creature's sagging feathers, brushing the wet stones beneath its five-taloned feet.

 ** _Shall I come out to play?_** Another flower had bloomed right under Harry's nose. With a cry of fright, Harry scrabbled to get away against the slick side of the dark-veined pillar; when a hand slipped he made the mistake of looking down. There was another streak of lightning revealing a baslisk-turned-sea-monster in the depths of the lake. Merlin's balls, he did not want to fall into that, but his grip seemed to be failing him!

"Contain yourself, Potter," snapped a nasal voice with the sound of a beak clacking. "If you cannot, then it reveals that you are too weak-minded to even attempt this exercise."

Swinging himself, Harry managed to grab the ledge with his other hand again and took a deep breath. Ignoring the screaming of his fingers, he closed his eyes and pressed his face against the sandstone, echoes of friendship coming to mind.  _Center and ground_ , he thought. He wouldn't give the bastard something else to tear apart if Harry failed. Suddenly, he didn't seem as heavy, and the mud cracked as it dried. Shoving himself up the side now that his toes found purchase, he rested for a moment. It had taken no time at all to disrupt his calm. Lifting his head, he eyed the floating pools, distrust humming on the wings of a hornet.  _Center and ground_ , he repeated firmly and the hornet exploded into pepper. Below his scraped forearms, the gritty stone was clean again and unmarred by glowing lines. Standing, he turned and scowled down at the pitch-black lake which had shrunk to the size of a pond.

"Recovered?" The normal-looking Potions Master glowered up at Harry, a step away from contacting its glass-like surface.

"Yes," Harry answered calmly.

The adult leapt into the center of the tiny lake, and the instant he touched the water—

 _A hundred dementors closed in on Harry beside the dark lake;_   _And one of them came forward, lowering its hood with its rotting hands. The face lacked nose and eyes, and there was a mouth with no lips, only a shapeless hole, sucking at his happiness with a deep evil—_

_He watched Uncle Vernon drill screws to lock the letter box shut. "You aren't going!" He shouted. Harry lost heart. He would never know what the letters addressed to **him** were about—_

_"Freak, freak, freak!" Dudley and his gang had surrounded a five year-old Harry, skipping around him as they pelted him with rocks. Harry curled up on the ground covering his head for the kicking that would soon start—_

_Harry stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, his nose and the palms of his hands pressed hard against the cool glass. Members of his dead family stared back. If he could only—_

" _Not Harry! Please have mercy! Have mercy—" "Avada Kedavra!" A green flash of light and his mother's body crumpled to—_

Head splitting, he took a great gasp of air where he laid on the floor of Professor Snape's office. Physically, he was cold, his skin icy to the touch despite his heavy robes and cloak.

"Get up," Snape said harshly, appearing livid.

Forcing himself to stand, Harry kept his feet apart to remain upright. He felt awful.

"You let me in too far."

"I know." Harry's face colored in an instant recognizing why the wizard had stopped the delving; the last memory had been Lily's death.

Lips curled with disgust at Harry's pity, Snape snarled, "That was the absolute worst attempt at resistance I've ever encountered. I wonder whether you really can throw off the Imperius Curse."

Opening and closing his fists at his sides, Harry scowled at the bastard. "The Imperius Curse  _feels_  good. That lake didn't."

This gave the adult pause as he searched Harry's face. "Very well. Prepare yourself."

Deliberately, Harry found his center and simply let all the other things clouding his mind go, even his anxiety over the soul-shard. If it was discovered, so be it.

The Potions Master lifted the wand once again. " _Legilimens!_ "

Again, they were shrouded by fog and summertime noises, except this time Snape took no time at all to step towards the shoreline of the lake to clear the air. The adult frowned and walked to the opposite side of the space and climbed steps over a high, divided wall that Harry had missed the first time. Harry's eyes followed the path to the end where a platform was set at the base of the wide sandstone pillar which Harry was atop. As Snape approached, the wind instruments from before were growing louder, frenetic as they competed for attention with the cicadas.

There was a hissing noise behind Harry. He turned slowly almost afraid that the flower-eye was back. But, no, it was only the misty-clear pond at level with his feet, steaming. His cold, sockless feet were lapped by cooling warm water; he thought about keeping them in the pond for warmth until he examined it more closely. The bottom of that pond glowed with hot coals, giving the impression that it could start boiling at any moment. No, better not step into that. Sensing something odd like a tickle at the back of his throat but in his forehead instead, Harry turned his gaze downward at the Potions Master who had placed a palm against the sandstone several feet below him. Harry wondered what he saw.

Snape frowned at the projection as if it were not what he expected. Sending up an annoyed glare, the Legilimens said, "I don't believe it. Of all things to Occlude—!" He cut off whatever he was going to say as he leisurely stepped off the staircase landing and jumped to the shoreline of the lake. For a moment his robes appeared to shift into four black wings of a moth.

"What now, sir?"

Harry was ignored. Landing nimbly, Snape sped to the space where the fog had been blown to, robes flaring out dramatically. He paused as he carefully leaned forward peering down as if there were an edge to the world they inhabited. "Certainly not there."

"What are you looking for? Sir."

Even over the great distance spanned between them, the look sent to Harry was cutting, and a nasty grimace settled across Snape's sallow face. "I'm sure you could reason it out if you bothered to use your brain."

Harry frowned, and the geyser in the pond exploded. He took a deep breath and calmed himself before the soul-shard seeped through and infected him again. The spray of hot water ceased. "How, sir?"

"Begin with what your symbols, such as your moat, represent," came the sharp bark reminding Harry of his first year as a dunderheaded Potions student.

 _Alright_ … Harry thought over it carefully.  _The lake represents sadness and despair, obviously since Snape brought them up when he touched it…_  He stared at the floating pockets of water. _The pond and geyser represents my anger and impatience_.  _The mud, irritation and panic. Lightning, fear. And the sandstone is joy holding back whatever the soul-shard represents. Disease? Madness?_ Feeling quite satisfied with himself, Harry grinned.

In an instant, there came a deep rumble from the clouds above them. That was when Professor Snape halted suddenly in his agitated pacing and looked up with his scowling face. "Ah," he said pensively, "Yes, they'd be out of reach, wouldn't they?"

"Sir?" Harry had looked up as well and saw only the wooly, grey clouds blanketing the sky above them.

Without another word, Professor Snape jumped higher than should have been possible, his black robes swirling around him as he rose higher and higher, figure warping completely into a harmless moth. The clouds parted dousing Harry in a stream of warm and comforting sunlight before the moth became enfolded by the thick clouds. The light disappeared as suddenly as it arrived.

There was a distant bolt of lightning and a deep rumble, and Harry felt a jolt of anticipation, not fear, though he had no idea why. He stared up at the clouds wondering how he was going to get there to find out what memories he was—had been—Occluding without realizing. A great droplet of rain plastered against his cheek and with it—

_"You're a wizard, Harry."_

_Harry's eyes widened at the giant of a man. "I'm a **what**_ **?"** —

_"Lastly, it is with great sorrow to announce that Professor Lockhart will be unable to return next year…"—_

_Inside the Broom Servicing Kit was an array of fantastical tools devoted to Harry's beloved broom. "Thanks, Hermione," Harry murmured—_

Distantly, Harry was aware that someone was  **watching**  as his happiest memories rained down on him, the smell of rain intoxicating.

_With shaking hands, Harry popped the clasp open on the photo album. His mother, a Hogwarts student, danced across the pages—_

_He pushed open the door and a "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!" startled him so soundly that—_

_Air rushed through Harry's hair and whipped his robes out behind him. A rush of fierce happiness sung through his body as he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught—this was **easy** , this was  **wonderful** —_

_No_ , he shouted to the foreign presence,  ** _You_**   _don't get to see!_

 _Oh?_ Came an amused echo _, why not?_

 _It's mine:_ my _happiness!_  Harry yelled and shoved—

He was suddenly aware that he was on the floor of Snape's office again with a sharp pain in his knee, which had apparently collided with the leg of the desk when he'd fallen.

Snape gave him a few moments to compose himself. "Again, on the count of three… One… two…"

Remaining where he was, Harry immediately cleared his bruised mind as his forced his eyes to look into Snape's.

"Three— _Legilimens!"_

_He'd woken up in his empty dorm-room on Christmas to find **presents** , presents  **for him** —_

_"What's this?" A young Harry clutched the bright woolen jumper with a Christmas tree he'd been handed—_

_His father and mother were waving at him out of an enchanted mirror—_

_Harry spread his arms out, keeping his legs tight around Buckbeak's middle. He threw his head back, letting out a bellow—_

_His father grabbed and lifted him into the air. Harry screamed happily, flapping his arms and hands out. James beamed—_

_THEY'RE MINE!_ Harry clumsily forced the other presence, which hardly resisted, out. Breathing hard, Harry's knees and hands were freezing from their contact against the stone floor. He felt like he was about to vomit from the way his head spun. How many of these horrible lessons would he need to attain what he wanted?

"Did you intend to produce a Stinging Hex?" Snape asked laconically, his scuffed boots stepping in a languid motion towards him.

 _Hex?_ Blinking dumbly, Harry looked up and saw the angry welt, like a scorch mark, on the professor's wrist. He was exhausted feeling like his skull had been pummeled until it had caved in. Wynch hadn't been exaggerating; Snape's Legilimency was clumsy as if he were wielding a weapon that hadn't been sized for him, like Sir Cadogan with the broadsword for a half-giant.

When Harry didn't answer, Snape said, "I thought not." He inspected Harry without sneering. "I believe we have done enough for today. You will come at the same time in four days. I suggest you practice emptying your mind of all emotion every night before you take the Dreamless Sleep draught—empty your mind, make it blank and calm."

"Yes, sir," Harry said getting to his feet.

"Take heed, Potter… You  _will_  develop a tolerance to the draught within months. If you have not mastered your mind by this time, the Dark Lord will exploit any and all weaknesses with impunity."

"Right," Harry murmured, hobbling out the office door. As he turned to shut it, he saw the adult touching his wand-tip with the silvery-white strand of memory to his temple. The strand immediately slithered into his head, disappearing. Head pounding, Harry left without another word and closed the door carefully behind him.

* * *

As Wynch had warned, even with a full night's rest Harry wasn't fully recovered from the Occlumency tutoring. A headache was knocking at the back of his skull while Harry went jogging. If it persisted, he would go see Madam Pomfrey. Despite that, Harry was in a better frame of mind than he had since that night Voldemort had spoken to him. "What's that lakeweed you gave me, Neville?" The snow was still thick on the grounds, but the air was rather warm for winter. There was hardly a breeze; the air was that tranquil, only disturbed by Theodore's light footfalls behind Harry. His friend had joined their jogs after the First Task, though he often missed due to the apprenticeship.

"Gillyweed!" His brother said radiantly beside him.

"Why did you give it to me?"

Over his swinging elbow, Neville shot him a confused look "Well, a month ago the Head Boy came to me—someone had told him that I love plants and fungi and, that I'm brilliant at Herbology—and he asked me if I could help, and I said yes. He said that as long as I could keep a secret then I could help, so I swore on my honor as a Longbottom—"

Harry's breathy laughter cut him off cleanly. "Neville, you don't need to tell me the whole of it.  _What_  is Gillyweed?" He asked more directly, slightly out of breath from talking as they jogged on the slippery paths. A Charm provided them with extra grip on the frozen, slick ground

"Oh, well, you eat it and you sprout gills, and then it webs your feet and hands so you can swim better. Legend says that it was first cultivated by a mermaid, so her air-breathing lover could live with her underwater," Neville answered brightly.

Thinking of the soggy pile of over-boiled spinach-seaweed-turnip leaves, Harry made a face at the thought of eating the slimy, green hairball that smelled like raw fish going sour. "So it'll let me breath underwater?" He re-iterated just to be sure he heard it right, excitement growing. Maybe this was the perfect solution they'd been looking for. "For how long?"

"Based on your body weight, an hour," Neville said and then added on as an afterthought, "Most likely."

Spellfast Cloak falling against him when he came to a sudden stop, Harry gaped at him. Theodore would've collided into him on the icy path if not for the Gripping Charm on his soles. " _Most likely_?"

"Well, if you were smaller, say a first year, it'd last that long, yeah. And then there's the debate among Herbologists as to the effects of fresh water versus salt water—"

"Neville, How much time do you think I would have?"

His brother's face scrunched up in thought. "Well, in fresh water and keeping the other factors in mind, its effects might only last three-quarters of an hour."

Harry frowned. "Why didn't you get more of it if you knew it wouldn't be enough?"

"It was all I could get," he said apologetically. "I tried a dozen apothecaries and none of them had any in stock. They said I'd have to pay a fee to get some harvested, but that'd take months, first delivery in July they said. Dobby helped me find the little I gave you."

Stomach squeezing with hunger and breakfast in mind, Harry began to jog again. He altered his course to take the pathway to the front doors of Hogwarts Castle; the two followed him.

Theodore asked, "If it was so difficult to find, where'd the house-elf nick it?"

"Dunno. I didn't ask," Neville said.

Well, Harry would practice the Bubble-Head Charm underwater so he didn't drown in Black Lake if the lakeweed didn't work as marketed. Harry slowed so that Theodore could join them, since the werewolf looked as if he had other questions for Harry's brother.

"Where'd you learn about it?" Theodore asked.

"Professor Moody gave me a book called the  _Magical Water Plants of the Highland Lochs_  back in September… it's got a load of incredible facts about magical vegetation in it! I even waded into the edge of the Black Lake to study some of the plants the book had pointed out. It was amazing! I never realized—"

"Professor Moody gave you this reference months ago?"

They had come to a stop outside the front doors. Only Harry and Neville was partly out of breath, though Theodore's face was reddened by the exercise and cold.

Neville puckered his brow at Theodore. "Yeah, why?"

As they walked up the steps, Theodore exchanged a suspicious glance with Harry.

"Seems too convenient," Harry said to the Gryffindor. "Why'd he give it to you?"

"Well, after the second DADA lesson, I wasn't…" Neville's eyes took on a watery quality, his face flushed from the long run. "Professor Moody took me aside for a cup of tea. That's when he gave me the book. Said it'd cheer me up. He'd heard from Professor Sprout that I was wicked good at Herbology—oh! She must've been the one who told Wynch I was brilliant at plants…"

While Neville chattered beside him, Harry's cold limbs flooded with warmth the moment they entered the Entrance Hall. If he remembered right—and Harry normally did—the second Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year had been a lecture on the Torture Curse, the Unforgivable which had driven both of Neville's parents mad.

Harry was still thinking about it while he was chewing on breakfast toast surrounded by his year-mates—minus three. He wondered where Draco and his pawns had gone off to now.

"I like this plan," Pansy said with a pragmatic air, jabbing her fork laden with fruit into the air. "It doesn't involve Harry attempting to Transfigure his head into a fish—"

"Transfigure my head?" Harry was alarmed. "I couldn't manage an Animagus transformation in two months! Are you barmy?"

"You wouldn't have to become a full Animagus," Pansy scolded. "It'd be a proto-Animagus form."

Sally-Anne chuckled. "But there's no guarantee that his animal could breathe underwater."

"Right," Daphne butted in. "I imagine he'd be something swift and deadly on land. Say, a leopard or cheetah."

"I'd say wolf," Theodore offered, flourishing his banger stuck through with a knife. "A pursuit predator would suit him."

Daphne and Bulstrode nodded as if this made perfect sense, while Pansy looked sourly at them. "I think he's an Orca Whale with a taste for baby seals and penguins."

Harry gave her a baffled look, but she simply smiled at him as if she'd paid him a high compliment.

"You're all wrong. I bet he's an ordinary red fox, afraid of hunters and birds of prey alike," Sally-Anne said giving Daphne a cheeky grin. The witch narrowed her eyes at her as Sally-Anne drank her orange juice.

Harry scowled, while the others giggled or laughed—excluding Tracey who was absorbed with the same book on Muggle Curiosities that Draco had been. Her birthday was in March, and Harry wasn't sure what shape he would be in after the Second Task, so he intended to give her what Dobby had bought to make things simple.

"So you say the lakeweed's called Gillyweed?" Daphne asked, redirecting the topic.

"Yes, that's what Neville said," Theodore replied, taking a huge bite of an apple now that he'd finished two plates of pancakes and bangers.

"It must be rare if Draco didn't suggest its use," she said thoughtfully.

Harry asked, "Do you think Dobby found it in the lake? It is technically a highland loch…"

"The lake's edges have frozen over since late November; even a house-elf would have difficulty procuring it," Sally-Anne said.

Pansy added, "And house-elves aren't exactly water-friendly. They sink like a stone, you see. Mother said that they have trouble snapping their fingers underwater, so it's a death trap if no one fishes them out."

"Not even Dobby would harvest Gillyweed if it meant he could no longer serve you," Theodore murmured. Harry sent him a sharp look. He'd rather no one die in his name for something so stupid, especially not Dobby.

"Well, it's a good thing you have the Gillyweed now, Harry. You can focus on practicing the Bubble-Head Charm in case your time runs out," Daphne insisted between delicate bites of her blueberry muffin.

Sally-Anne nodded, scooping up another spoonful of porridge. "It shouldn't be an issue for you to practice it underwater if you can charm yourself against dragon-fire."

Harry sighed. "I hope so. I have less than a month and a half left."

Only Pansy looked worried. The rest looked quite confident that he could manage.

* * *

The days passed into January starting a new year. On the evening before the new term, the most exciting thing to happen since the Yule Ball was that Professor Moody had been taken into custody. It happened in the Great Hall, when two dark-skinned Aurors approached the DADA professor.

"You are under arrest for the impersonation of Alastor Moody," said the one in colorful robes with a deep, audible voice which carried in the Great Hall.

While others gasped or shouted their alarm, many of the Durmstrang students hissed at this revelation with dark scowls on their faces as if they found such a plot offensive. Harry looked down the table and saw that not one of the Slytherins were amused by this pronouncement.

Sensing a flare of intense magic, Harry turned in his spot and saw the flicker of an immense Shield Spell waver into existence between the staff table and the seated students by the casual wave of the headmaster's fingers.  _Wandless magic_ , he thought.  _Did anyone else see that?_

Surrounded by Hogwarts staff as well as specially qualified Dark Wizard hunters, the scarred Defense Against the Dark Arts professor raised his hands and smiled distantly. His magical eye whirled wildly in its socket. The other Auror quickly flicked his wand to tie Moody's hands behind his back, while the first waved his wand, simultaneously divesting the impostor of his wand and causing the numerous belts of vials and knives to fall to the floor with a dull thud.

"Get going," Auror Proudfoot growled, shoving a hand against the impostor's back. All through this the impostor smiled as if he knew something the others did not. Nonetheless he thumped down the center aisle ignoring the hostile stares from the students on either side of him.

Professor Dumbledore stood, raising his hands to silence the eruption of noise after the five Aurors had gone with the culprit. "As you can see, Auror Shacklebolt and the others handled that matter superbly. As for the matter of your Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Principal Oke has agreed to teach until the real Alastor has healed from his ordeal. Yes, he is alive though very ill from his captivity. Any friendly get-well messages can be sent to the infirmary, though I cannot guarantee that they will be read." The headmaster clapped his hands together. "Now! Let us continue our delicious desserts and then head onto pleasanter dreams!" Harry could have sworn the old wizard was looking at him when he said that. A play of irony or a hidden message?

"Excuse me," Krum said gruffly, rising from the bench with his attention elsewhere. It wasn't difficult to see why. A bushy-haired Gryffindor was standing by the double doors, looking furtively in their direction.

"Well, there goes months of planning," Draco complained and then grimaced at Harry. With Krum's absence, there was an awkward gap between them that remained unfilled. "Though that imposter never bothered you again after the chalk incident, did he? Smart of him, considering what happened to Yaxley." The blond closed his fist with gusto as if he might be crushing an empty aluminum can. "The might of a budding Dark Lord."

Harry's eyes flashed to Tracey sitting across from them before he was able to stop himself. Whenever Pansy and the others sat apart from Harry's group, Tracey had chosen to sit with them more often. He'd overheard Tracey's quarrels with her friends over their treatment of Hermione on more than one occasion. It didn't take a genius to know that she was on shaky ground with them. "What about Yaxley?"

"Oh?" Draco drawled, sliding closer on the bench, "The latest gossip is that he and a few of his friends want to transfer to Durmstrang. Don't tell me you haven't heard…" When Harry sent him a blank look, Draco scoffed. "He's terrified of  _you_. Whatever you've done has been quite effective. He's even told his father to better compensate the other two half-bloods he scarred as a gesture of good will."

"I didn't do anything." Harry eyed the gap between them and then the prat, who was now smirking with relish as if he knew Harry was lying.

"Those who dare to challenge you are mere stepping stones to your path to greatness." The teen's smile was shark-like, raising his goblet to his lips. "You're nearly there, what with having a bloodsw—"

"This may come as a shock since you haven't listened to me yet," Harry interrupted, shifting to overtake the inch of polite space between him and his friends, "But  _I do not have designs to become a Dark Lord_."

When Harry bumped into her, Sally-Anne's head swiveled towards them. "I agree, just because Harry's brilliant at the Dark Arts and can take on Professor Snape single-handedly doesn't mean he's interested in overthrowing the current political regime—" She stated in a light mocking tone.

"Hey!" Harry turned on his friend. "You're supposed to defend me!"

She grinned. "Your morals and humility are preventing any such nefarious designs; I've never seen more unbending integrity other than among Hufflepuffs."

Harry scowled, chewing on his baked mutton and boiled carrots. Having nothing to add, a robust Theodore grinned as he plowed through another plate of steak. As the months passed, his friend was broadening in the shoulders and filling out in a way the only other werewolf Harry had known never had.

"She doesn't know about the blood fealty, your Grace," Draco murmured banally, examining his fingernails and picking and flicking invisible rubbish from them. The gap had shrunk to a pitiful three inches when Harry hadn't been looking. He sent a glare at him.

" _Slytherin preserve us_!" Theodore's head twisted from his place at Sally-Anne's hushed, reverent tone. They eyed Harry, Theodore with increased curiosity and Sally-Anne with a steeliness he was unaccustomed to seeing from her. "If you have a… Well. We all may have underestimated you."

Harry felt the oncoming embarrassment. "It wasn't my idea."

Theodore's face lit up. "Really? Who could have had the guts to ask you?" Sally-Anne didn't seem bothered when Theodore leaned across her back to better whisper at Harry, "I guess it has to be someone in our House, known either to have public ties with the Potter family—and I've never heard of anything of the sort with thoroughbred Slytherins, other than the ones that were disowned—or… to be so totally without political connections that they'd be desperate to swear themselves to you, a fourteen-year-old after they came of age…"

" _Oh_ ," Draco half-sneered, leaning menacingly over Harry's shoulder, "Don't  _pretend_  you don't know!"

Normally Harry would've pushed him back with an elbow, but as it was he wasn't looking forward to being caught out in a lie. The less attention he drew to himself the better.

Unsurprisingly, Theodore looked utterly bewildered at their roommate. "This is the first I've heard of it."

Harry said, "Now, wait one second—"

Dessert abandoned, Sally-Anne pelted him with questions, "Why didn't you tell us? When did this happen?  _Who is it_?"

"I'm not saying," Harry said, shoveling treacle pudding in his mouth. Sally-Anne looked at him thoughtfully when she recognized the stubborn look on his face.

Draco leaned nearer to Theodore. "I only want to know how you managed to get your father to agree to it."

"…My father…? Agree to seal away his bloodline?" Theodore said very, very slowly and so quietly it was nearly lost in the noise of conversation around them. "Are you mad?"

Harry guzzled down pumpkin juice. It was far too late to stop them from finding out. He could feel the trio staring at him now.

" _Oh_ ," Draco said lowly, savoring the moment. A dangerous smile poured into his lips and the noise of the Great Hall seemed to fade away. "Very devious, your Grace. You let me hang on my own end of rope, did you? My godfather always said I had a way of jumping to the wrong conclusions…"

"Before you ask, I won't say who it is," Harry reiterated, glancing up at the staff table. It was mostly empty now as professors retired for the evening.

"Not to worry, I already have a prime suspect," Draco said, lightly tapping a finger to his smiling lips, "But I suppose I'll keep it to myself for the time being…"

"Prat," Theodore said to their roommate. "Not even going to give the rest of us a clue?"

Draco's smile grew more conniving. "Keep your eyes open. It should be fairly obvious who it is if you know where to look."

With a sigh, Sally-Anne grumbled, "We all know you love a good Cryptograph to unravel, but the rest of us don't like being left in suspense."

Scoffing, Draco casually leaned forward between the stacks of ice cream piled high. "Tracey, enjoying your book?"

Tracey only spared a scowl from her spot, not even looking up from the very large softcover book she had open before her. It was one of three she'd gotten from Harry for Christmas. While Bulstrode had moved on to other books in her collection, Tracey was never seen without them in her free time.

"Can't be  _her_ ," Sally-Anne muttered under her breath. "She isn't of age for one, and there's no way her mums would let her."

Puzzled, Harry turned to his bespectacled friend.  _Mums?_  He mouthed at her. She flicked her eyes towards the ceiling and shook her head, biting into a chocolate drop biscuit.

"That's your clue," Draco continued, pushing off the bench, "Now, if you'll excuse me I have to change my wagers on the Stolen One."

"That is definitely an unfair advantage," Theodore called at Draco's back. Crabbe and Goyle soon joined the prat and they left the Great Hall. Then Harry's friend glanced at the golden brunette. "Tracey, can I see that book?"

"Not on your life," came the quick answer, "But you can borrow the first volume from my bag. It's brilliant. I read it four times."

Mind back on topic, Harry frowned. Draco had gotten the very same book-set from him for Christmas. He likely had connected the dots with just that.

Theodore swung off the bench and hastily dug through Tracey's sack, pulling out the bright green-and-silver softcover. The front illustration had an animated stick figure—obviously a wizard by the wand in his hand—standing with question marks blinking about his head on a black background as said wizard attempted to press the 'on' button on the telly to no avail. Harry had laughed when he'd first seen it because the telly wasn't plugged into the socket in the wall.

Theodore opened it and flipped to the first page and read aloud, " _This book is dedicated to all those idiots who call themselves scholars of Muggle Artifacts and actually believe that eleck-trickity is how you pronounce—eleck-trih-city. By the way, if you saw the cover illustration and laughed, there's nothing in this book you don't already know. You could make the poor chap incredibly delighted by showing him his mistake."_ He flipped it closed. "Huh. That's an odd dedication... Who wrote—" Theodore must've looked at the author's name since he jumped off the bench and ran towards the double doors.

"Let me see it!" Sally-Anne asked, dragging the book towards her. At the cover illustration she laughed. "Oh, that poor fellow," she raised her wand and tapped the plug, flicking it up lightly. Harry watched as the plug slipped into the socket, and the telly turned on. The Stick-Wizard jumped back ten feet with his wand raised and then watched in wonder and awe as a news programme began to play silently. The tv screen would fade, flicker, and fzzt whenever the Stick-Wizard grew brave enough to draw close.

"I never thought to do that," Harry said.

There was silence from Sally-Anne and then she tapped Harry's arm and pointed at the author's name:  _Mervyn Bartholomew Wynch_.

With a sigh of defeat, Harry nodded.

"Draco practically gave it away to us. I can see why he would…" She said quietly, "If it was made public that you accepted someone without Blood Status…"

"It'd be bad, I know. Hence the secrecy."

Sally-Anne smiled. "He must've been over the world when you offered to sponsor him…"

"Yes," he said, unwilling to go into the details. Finished with his food, he took the book and put it back into Tracey's schoolbag. "Thanks."

Tracey nodded, but didn't look up from her book.

The following day, classes and detention resumed at their usual pace all week.

Once Thursday came, Harry rejoined his housemates in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom since Ms. Oke was teaching. They were relieved to see him.

"Didn't feel th' same withou' you," Goyle had said, while the others nodded. Sally-Anne and Theodore sat on either side of him at one of four tables set in two rows. The single-person desks which Quirrell, Lockhart, Lupin, and fake-Moody had favored were gone.

Several weeks went past. Theodore had left and when he returned monopolized Sally-Anne's time with school work. There was a Slytherin dueling session and a couple Hogsmeade weekends, all of which Harry skipped owing to his days bursting with assignments and practice exercises and the preparation for the Second Task. The first morning of February, Cassius Warrington stopped Harry in the Entrance Hall and congratulated him briefly. Harry thanked him, though it left him as confused as his friends. Soon post was delivered, and the largest raven Harry had ever seen delivered a bulky envelope bearing an official-looking seal from the British-Irish-Scottish Potions Masters' Guild. He fed it a strip of bacon and it took off with a loud caw, " _Cheers_!" Harry nearly slopped himself with his juice, choking. Theodore thumped his back.

 _Talking birds are rather mundane compared to Dragons and Hippogriffs_ , Harry thought wryly.

"What is it?" Draco's tone was cautiously light. Both Sally-Anne and Theodore were leaning over Harry's opposite shoulders.

"Don't know." Harry opened it and pulled out several sheets of parchments.

_Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,_

_Congratulations on passing the Potions Novice Examination (P.N.E.)._

_On behalf of our guild, I wish you well on this important step forward in your continued Potions education. Enclosed you will find your results to your practical and written examinations and your license as a Novice Potion Stirrer. Novices may apply for the Potions Journeyman Examination two years from attainment of a Novice License. With the endorsement of an eminent Master of Potions, the P.J.E. may be taken within eighteen months so long as the applicant is at least fifteen years of age._

_Best of luck in your future endeavors,_

_Milliard Warrington_  
_Master of Potions_  
_B.I.S. Potions Guildmaster_

Harry thought that was odd. He never remembered taking such an exam, though now it made sense why Cassius would congratulate him. This Milliard must be a relative of his.

"It's a letter of congratulations for passing the P.N.E.," he told his best friends.

"Excellent!" Theodore cheered, lightly thumping his shoulder. Sally-Anne adjusted her glasses, excited for him. "Good work, Harry. I didn't know that you applied."

"I didn't," he said. His friends exchanged looks across him.

Scandalized, Draco exclaimed, "What do you mean you didn't apply?"

"I wager that Professor Snape signed me up for it without telling me." Harry pushed his plate and goblet back to make more room to examine the parchments. There was a parchment with the heading 'Potions Practical' which held two narrow tables marked with scores and columns of indecipherable notes beside them. Beneath that was a stack of folded parchment; it was a copy of the same bloody exam he'd taken before holiday break except it'd been folded like an accordion instead of rolled and had corrections written all over it in bright green or purple. Lastly, he pulled out what could only be the 'license'. The thick, dark-grey parchment had writing that looked as if it was made of liquid gold.

 **_The B.I.S. Potions Guild awards_ **  
**Harry James Potter**  
**with the designation of**  
****_N ovice Potion Stirrer_  
after his completion of the P.N.E. with   
_**Exceeds Expectations** _

At the bottom were four wax seals, one for the Proctor, two Assessors, and an Inspector. As Harry had suspected, the bloody bastard's scrawled signature was beneath the Proctor seal. Harry looked to the staff table, but didn't see Snape. What was the man thinking? Were they at odds or not?

"You actually passed it?" Draco sounded a hair away from losing his temper. " _I've_  taken it twice and every time they docked me on the practical!" His voice said mockingly, " 'Have better attention to detail', 'Brewing isn't alchemy', 'Practice Patience with Potions!' They act like I haven't been at my godfather's knee this whole time!"

Harry packed the parchments back into the envelope, being gentle not to crease or fold them accidentally. "If you want to pass it, apply yourself."

"You don't think I haven't studied?" His roommate's voice was simmering with envy.

"You hardly do more research than necessary for class. Do you even want to brew for a living?" Harry smirked at the irritated huff he received.

"It wouldn't be for a living, just a hobby," Draco said touchily.

With a measuring look, Theodore chuckled. "You could've fooled me."

"Find something funny, Theo?" Their housemate spat out.

"Consider this: you spend a lot of time on that miniature dragon atrium. Surely you would rather do that as a hobby than earn a license you don't even care about?" Theodore rested his chin on his hand and leaned an elbow against the table, while Sally-Anne remained quiet.

Two blinks later, Draco reassessed them. "Potions are alright," he said with a resentful tone. "But I much rather Conjure whatever passes my fancy. My father expects me to be a genius at Potions, but I've not the natural talent for them." Hesitant grey eyes turned to Harry, who ignored him.

"Seems like your father expects a lot of things," Tracey stated, startling all four of them. Draco glared at her, but she had already gone back to her book.

"We can't be everything other people expect us to be," Harry said, interrupting whatever the prat had been about to say. "We've a free will of our own. It's our choice who we'll become when we grow up." Harry gave Draco a pointed look. "And I won't be a Dark Lord even if I happened to have the right qualifications."

"That's the spirit," Sally-Anne said, toasting her goblet of juice towards Harry. Draco muttered about 'wasted potential' as he grumpily stood up to go sit with his girlfriend, Crabbe following. Goyle was already seated with Bulstrode.

"He's in a foul mood, isn't he?" Theodore murmured, breaking their silence. Harry silently agreed.

"When  _isn't_  he?" Tracey quipped, and she and Sally-Anne had a chuckle over that.

A few days passed. On the Fourth of February at precisely ten at night, Harry had officially finished his sentence of brewing potions thrice-a-week. When he'd announced this to Mafalda, she seemed a bit disappointed, but wished him well.

He asked her, "You still have detention?"

"Detention? No, I'm one of his Apprentices. Professor Snape pays us a stipend to recompense for our time and labor. He gives only his best Potions students 'detention' in here."

It took a moment to absorb what she said. That bastard had cheated him out of hard-earned money? Harry calmly turned towards the Potions Master, who seemed to expect the glare. "The others were paid?"

While Harry ground his teeth together, a half-smirk tugged at the corner of the bastard's lips beneath that ugly beak nose. Then the Potions Master handed an envelope to him. "You will find your compensation within. Should you wish to continue your work as Potion Stirrer, there will always be a cauldron stand open."

The Salem Institute champion slashed it open with an impatient finger and found a cheque for twenty Galleons. With an annoyed look at the greasy-haired bastard, Harry left the Potions Lab. He would not return if he could help it.

Over the next week, Harry overheard the gossip about Rita Skeeter's usual trash. Usually he ignored it, but this time she'd targeted Hagrid and the headmaster temporarily removed the half-giant from teaching. Harry hardly thought that was fair. They wouldn't be nearly as harsh towards Hagrid if he had graduated from a proper institution or taken his N.E.W.T.s. As it was, Hagrid's position as a professor was unnecessarily fragile if a gossip columnist had the power to rouse the public's ire in order to remove him, temporary or not. Harry wondered if there were remedial schools Hagrid could go to and how much they would cost; it must be tiring to constantly be belittled by people who thought they were superior in every way.

In the interim, Harry hated Hagrid's replacement. Though she kept Madam Maxime's horses well-tended, the substitute professor for Care of Magical Creatures class kept choosing creatures that mysteriously disliked wizards. When it happened each week, it was hardly a coincidence; Professor Grubbly-Plank seemed to be as biased against boys as Draco was against girls. This would have been only a minor issue if the professor hadn't held a position of power over them. Surprisingly—or maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising—Hermione had taken issue with Professor Grubbly-Plank's discriminatory practices, beginning with the professor's first lesson about Unicorns.

The professor had not liked being proved wrong about her statement of Unicorns only liking girls when Hermione encouraged who she thought as having pure hearts to step forward. Both Neville and Goyle had been able to pet the Unicorns without being gored. In fact, the Unicorns rather seemed to like them, particularly Neville who giggled every time they flicked their tails at his head. During that lesson, Harry had been careful to keep his distance. The Unicorns would defensively tilt their horn in his direction whenever he dared to get within ten feet of them. Likely, they could sense the evil lodged in him or maybe they sensed a bit of the creature which had murdered several of their herd three years ago. Professor Grubbly-Plank did say that she'd lured them out of the Forbidden Forest.

After Hermione stood up to the professor again and again, Harry shouldn't have been surprised when a mere fourth year was targeted next by Rita Skeeter's smear campaign. It made Harry think that Grubbly-Plank was in some way connected to either Skeeter or Lucius Malfoy. Though, it was a bit strange; the professor didn't seem nefarious, merely annoying in the way that biting gnats were. And why Hermione? Was she just that easy of a target or was it because of her association with Harry?

During the DADA lesson that week, when the fourth years demonstrated an adequate mastery of stunners and Shield Spells Professor Oke insisted on practicing a drill where five students were on the offensive and the other five on the defensive. To make it even more exciting it was wizards against witches. Unfortunately, the witches were wiping the floor with them, largely because Draco refused to cast spells at anyone but Sally-Anne and ordered Crabbe and Goyle to do the same… Harry and Theodore were left scrambling to defend themselves against four upstanding witches. After three of his team were Stunned, Harry used a Freezing Charm as he had in the greenhouse the previous year. Amazingly, Professor Oke somehow defended against it.

"Merciless, aren't you? Hate losing that much?" Their professor said to Harry with an aborted giggle after she had seen how even Harry's remaining teammate, Draco, hadn't been spared. With a rough wave of her hand, she cancelled the Freezing Charm and Rennervated the three who'd been Stunned. "Great job, ladies. Let's switch gears. Boys, you're on the offensive now. And go!"

This time Harry and Theodore managed to stun Tracey, Bulstrode, and Pansy by exploiting the weaknesses in their shield casting. Crabbe and Goyle had lost their wands to a smirking Daphne. Draco was casting stunners at a ferocious speed, but Sally-Anne looked nowhere near faltering.

"Give me your best," Daphne taunted, her wand at the ready.

Theodore gestured as if he were about to cast, but Daphne shook her head. "Please. I knew you weren't going to cast. I  _can_ see what—"

" _Stupefy!"_  Harry cast and she slumped to the floor unconscious.

With a wicked grin exchanged, they turned to Sally-Anne, who was frowning with concentration as she nonverbally blocked the successive spells from Draco.

" _Stupefy!_ " Theodore cast. A flick of the wand rendered the spell moot. Harry's friend whistled. "Your situational awareness is bloody fantastic, Sal."

Hearing that, she smiled, but didn't waver in her defense against Draco.

"Give it up!" Draco said, panting slightly from excessive casting. He must not have the lung capacity for it. "It's three against one!"

The brunette eyed him, blocking a stunner Harry had lobbed when she looked distracted. "I would have said two and a half."

Draco's face flushed with rage.  _"Expulso!"_

Before either Theodore or Harry could react, a bright shield leaped forth. A rune glowed beneath them and the shield crystallized.

The Imploding Curse fell upon the powerful defense and scattered harmlessly. The defensive light faded, the glowing rune vanishing as if it never was.

"Malfoy, twenty points from Slytherin for explicitly going against the stated rules and endangering your fellow students," Professor Oke said clearly. "Shame on you, what would your father think, hm?"

Hands trembling, Draco holstered his wand. He looked drawn, though unapologetic as he met Harry's cold gaze. "I… apologize. I lost my temper."

"Don't lose it again or I'll eject you from class." Their professor spun, gesturing towards the blackboard. Harry had the weirdest sensation of déjà vu, though this was the first time Professor Oke had used a blackboard. "Your assignment isn't due for two weeks. Be sure to get it done on time. I won't accept it after. You are dismissed." Silver flashed on her fingers as the light streaming in through the windows hit them. There were fewer rings on her hand.


	15. The Stolen One

It was nearly mid-February, less than two weeks before the Second Task when Harry was enjoying the winter sunlight on the bridge to Hagrid's cabin. He was thinking of nothing in particular, letting his rambling thoughts trickle in and out of his head as smoothly as he breathed. They were becoming easier, the Occlumency lessons. Twice a week they came, but the Head Soothers only did so much for the persistent dull ache they left behind his eyes.

While Sally-Anne and Theodore spoke quietly beside him, Harry leaned his gloved hands against the stylized bridge railings into the blowing wind and breathed in. A heavy woolen cap in Slytherin colors hung over the tops of his ears, keeping him warm. For a brief moment, he was unburdened. Any thoughts about how the next Occlumency lesson that evening would go were left to wither as quickly as his worry had birthed them. And then the thick, green-and-silver scarf around his shoulders rearranged itself when a sudden blast of frigid wind threatened to dislodge it, breaking the peaceful trance Harry had fallen into.

"Hey, Potter!"

He blinked several times, turning when he heard someone unfamiliar approach them. "Yes?"

Cedric Diggory looked rather nervous, tying his yellow and black scarf more snugly around his neck. "How—How are you?" The Hufflepuff looked pointedly towards Harry's friends and then smiled at Harry.

"When you've finished, come get us," Sally-Anne said, and without discussing what they were doing his year-mates traveled in opposite directions the corridor. They would prevent anyone from disturbing the two champions.

Once they were alone, the Hufflepuff shifted his feet on the uneven wooden planks as his hands fiddled with his extra-long scarf. "Are you doing well?"

Harry didn't answer right away because he hadn't thought the question was serious. He thought for a moment, not knowing why Diggory wanted to speak to him. It wasn't as if Cho Chang had spoken to Harry after that brief moment on the train, so it couldn't be because of her.  _How am I?_  Harry asked himself. For once, he felt clear-headed; he wasn't worried about the soul-shard lurking in the back of his mind or the blood ritual that Voldemort had planned. Instead, the more he progressed with Defensive Projection, the more coherent he felt. He could see the damage his psyche had taken after a decade with the Dursleys. They had left him knotted up, and somehow these lessons were undoing those knots, making him stronger while creating enormous headaches for his trouble. He had to re-focus on the now when he realized he'd spent too long without answering him. "Spectacular," he relayed amiably, "How're you? Did your burn heal up alright?"

"Doing well." Diggory flashed a bright smile and in one movement swiped his scarf off and pulled his collar down. "Very nicely, see?" The pale skin was mottled, but the healed burn scar was quite faint. "Just have a bit of nerve damage. Can't tell whether it's hot or cold, though either make it ache," he said wrapping his neck as soon as Harry had a quick look. "Heard you've taken a fancy to a witch in your year. Davis, was it?"

"I suppose that's better than other guesses..."

"How do you mean?"

Harry sighed. "No, we aren't dating. I'm not dating anyone." Harry gazed out over the gorge. The sight of the conifers smothering the mountain with snow-covered, prickly hairs and the smell of damp earth and forest settled him. He looked at the Hogwarts champion. "You can't only be asking about that. What did you need?"

Diggory started as if the question snapped him out of a daze. "Nothing. I mean, I don't need anything. I… I've meant to say something for a while now," the champion said looking down at the wooden floor before meeting Harry's eyes again. The Hufflepuff towered over Harry but for the moment appeared younger than him. "I realize I never really thanked you—properly… for tipping me off about those dragons." He exhibited more than a bit of nervousness. Suspicious, Harry tried to reason out the true purpose of the conversation. Nobody was that nervous over expressing simple gratitude. "I wanted to apologize for picking the Welsh on purpose."

"What?" The word squeezed out through tightened lips. Harry's focus sharpened considerably on Diggory's chapped face.

"My mum makes models for a living, so I had a feel for the difference between the two," the Hogwarts champion said guiltily. "It was very selfish of me, but I don't think I would be standing here if I had picked the Horntail."

As quickly as the anger came, it faded, largely because it wasn't worth being angry over. The First Task had happened three months ago and Diggory had been injured most severely of the champions. Harry shook his head and maintained eye contact. "I won't hold a grudge over that."

"I didn't think you would… but I do owe you a favor. A friend told me that's how it works in your house." The Hogwarts champion leaned forward, his shyness falling away. "So a favor it is." He grinned.

Harry resisted the impulse to pull back. "I didn't tell you for favor. If I wanted one, I would have asked."

Diggory pulled away when he noticed Harry's discomfort. The champion's confidence was in top form because he chuckled lightly and leaned against the window frame without any apparent worry about toppling back into the craggy, snow-filled gorge.

Harry's hand gently clutched the hilt of his wand as his mind snapped to the dilemma sitting in front of him. Levitating a body was different from levitating a feather, especially one that was actively moving. Extra difficulty was tacked on when an object moved out of range faster than one could cast. The best incantation for a student falling to their death would be  _Mobilicorpus_ due to its quick wand-form _,_  right? Bother, he hadn't really studied charms to levitate moving objects. Maybe the fall wouldn't kill the Hufflepuff.

"You know the Prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor?" Diggory asked with a playful lilt, lips revealing his cheerful mood. Fully seated on the railing, he flourished his arms as he spoke.

"Er…" Harry frowned. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"Using it is part of the special privileges you get when you become a prefect or Quidditch Team Captain," Diggory said, pushing off the railing to impart a whispered secret. "I could tell you about it if you'd like."

"Alright…" The Slytherin said quietly, his interest piqued. He relaxed once Diggory didn't seem to be in apparent danger, but didn't like his close proximity.

"It's the fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered. Password's ' _pine fresh'_." Diggory stepped even closer, his lips near his ear. He whispered, "It's not a bad place for a bath."

Ear tickled by the soft breath, Harry flinched away. He leveled an unblinking glare at the Hufflepuff, daring him to continue along that thread of conversation. "I'll forget you said that."

Startled, Diggory took several steps back with a hand up and the other on his wand. "I didn't—Just—just take your egg. And mull things over in the hot water. Then we're even, alright?" Off-kilter, the Hufflepuff champion showed another grin that was a lot less polished than his first and then sauntered off at a quick pace.

Harry was surprised that Diggory didn't look over his shoulder to see if he was going to get hexed. Taking a deep breath, Harry calmed in the brisk breeze and then headed back towards Hogwarts Castle. Dimly, he heard Sally-Anne running to catch up. Theodore was leaned against the bannister with an amused look. Perhaps his preternatural hearing had picked up the champions' conversation. The Hufflepuff champion  _had_  left in a hurry.

Sally-Anne asked, "So, what'd he want?"

"I think he was flirting with me." Even after Diggory had announced that Harry's preference did not include blokes when Harry had gone to warn him about the dragons.

" _Really_?" Sally-Anne seemed to find this amusing. "What'd he say?

"He told me the password to the Prefects' bathroom on the fifth floor and then told me it's not a bad place for a bath. Said he wanted to thank me properly for telling him about the dragons." The whole bit with the egg seemed like a weak excuse to meet in the bathroom when Harry thought about it. "Why would Diggory do that?"

Sally-Anne snorted and slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her onslaught of laughter. Harry glared at her and she stopped. "Sorry," she whispered. "It's a bit obvious when you—" She waved a hand towards him. "You know."

"No, I don't know." When she didn't elaborate, Harry turned his glare on the werewolf.

"Well," Theodore began, "Your behavior at the ball may have had something to do with it."

Harry rubbed his face. "I danced with Tracey nearly all night, couldn't stop looking at Ginny, and had my arms full with Hermione. What part of that leaps out as gay?"

Theodore cleared his throat. "It's true that you danced with Tracey all night, but you never kissed her or let your hands wander—"

Harry's calm snapped. "Why would I? And you know how I feel about  _snogging_. I would have thought that detail would have spread like wildfire!"

Theodore smiled, but didn't argue. Sally-Anne had regained her composure. "Well, that's the issue, isn't it? You were  _too_  well-behaved. Nobody saw you moon over her or make eyes that advanced over her. Then you excused yourself fairly quickly when she was dancing too close... And you could interpret those innocent looks towards Ginny as little more than simple appreciation for her wardrobe choices."

Theodore added, "Meanwhile, it's well known that you're only  _friends_  with Hermione. That means getting snot on your jacket doesn't lead to the same gossip gold which would have happened to other opportunistic feeders."

Harry's jaw worked. "The absence of unseemliness doesn't make me gay."

His friends exchanged a knowing glance. That was about the only thing Harry ever found trying about their friendship. They'd share looks with one another before, speaking with those casual glances, yet now those had grown complex and complicated. Harry hadn't the slightest clue what they were communicating.

"The most damning piece of evidence is that you went into the rose garden with Viktor Krum. He's publicly known to swing for either side back home…" Theodore trailed off.

Harry's face had heated as realization crashed down. Krum hadn't been nervous about Harry's suspicions about the juice being poisoned at all, had he? "Nothing happened. He asked me out to the rose garden and then we looked at the stars." His stomach was twisting into knots because, really,  _nothing had happened_. He had agreed to get a bit of fresh air after the noise of the Weird Sisters and a heated argument between Gryffindors.

"Ah, well…" Sally-Anne said a bit slowly, "It's really too bad that several people saw Professor Snape grab you by the arm to drag you bodily away from Krum. That sort of thing really makes tongues wag."

Pressing a hand against his face, Harry let out an angry sigh. "Ruddy bastard." Ever since he received his Novice license, Harry had as a matter of happy coincidence become invisible to the Potions Master during Potions class; he did whatever assignment there was as efficiently as possible and left. Now that detention was over, any contact outside the Occlumency sessions was minimal so long as Harry stayed out of trouble. "So, those who saw Snape drag me away assumed things had gotten out of hand with Krum." When his friends nodded, Harry sighed and rubbed his fingers against his temples.

Sally-Anne looked a bit apologetic. "That, and Daphne isn't helping. She actively encourages these rumors."

"Oh, she does? Lovely," Harry said sarcastically. The thing he regretted was that he even bothered to ask her about Occlumency tutors.

"If you'd start dating, then the gossipers would change their tune." Sally-Anne unconsciously stepped closer to Theodore, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It wouldn't stop completely, mind you, but their guesses wouldn't be as wild."

"Yeah, seems to be your only option if it makes you this worked up. No one has seen how your tastes run, so anything's credible," Theodore said.

"They can all bloody stuff themselves," Harry groused, the scarf snapping in the wind before it hugged him tighter.

"And St. Valentine's only a few days away… Might be smart to attach yourself to someone until that passes."

"Really couldn't give a flying arse, Theo. Can't be worse than dwarves dressed up as cupids reciting valentine poetry."

Harry had been wrong, of course, but that was nowhere near as bad as what would be his last Occlumency lesson with Snape that evening.

Quite angry as Harry showed little progress, yet again, Snape stormed from one end of his office to the other. The bloody bastard acted as if Occlumency should come more naturally to Harry, and after seven weeks Harry could see that his mind had begun to morph into one incorporated with heavy defenses. Harry  _had_  been learning, just not as quickly as the bastard wanted. "I told you to practice clearing your mind every second of every minute, every moment of every breath, every hour of every day!"

"I  _have_  been, sir! But I… I feel  _stuck_. Like something's got a hold of me," Harry stopped when he realized what could be going on.  _The soul-shard. It must be bloody sabotaging me! "_ And won't let go," he finished lamely.

"Nonsense!" the adult sneered, "It's your fear, a simple justification for your attachment to feeling. You need to just  _be_!  _Legilimens!_ "

Like the first two sessions, Snape didn't simply delve straight into Harry's memories. He stalked across the sucking mud of the projected space, his form warping only a bit before he slipped through the tall thorny bars surrounding Harry and landed effortlessly on top of the wide ledge suspended over the unnatural sandstone formation. Harry had learned enough to build the ledge to raise him from the lapping muddy waters of the roiling pools, instead of constantly being on guard. He found focusing on the soothing cicadas and the blanket of clouds above helped keep the ledge solid, much like the joy of friendship protected him from the soul-shard's influence.

Without any difficulty the adult balanced above the pool containing a plethora of angry memories and glowered down at Harry. Appearing vindicated, Snape pointed at his bare feet. "You are chained, Potter! Rid yourself of the underlying cause and you should have no more difficulties."

Harry looked. There was nothing out of the ordinary about his pale, hairy ankles, poking out from the cuffs of fitted trousers. Though his clothes had improved immensely as he worked on his mental defenses, his feet remained without socks. He saw the cold, rough-cut granite beneath his toes and the water pooling beneath the ledge. Thankfully the soul-shard hadn't yet burst free to terrorize the bastard. Explaining that a bit of Voldemort's soul had been striving to take over his body would be difficult enough among friends—which Harry still hadn't done yet. To Snape? The man would go mental. " _Chains_ , sir?"

With a furious swing of his body, the Legilimens mimed scooping up something and shook it at him as if it rattled. " _These_ , Potter!"

Harry winced and pressed a hand against his forehead. "I don't see anything, sir," he said through gritted teeth. "What do they look like to you?"

The very moment Snape stopped shaking what could only be invisible chains the burning subsided. Incensed, the wizard dropped them carelessly as he turned away without answering. A half-second later, enough time for the chains to hit the ground, a clap of agony swam through Harry as his head felt like it was being split open. He forced himself to breathe deeply through the pain, allow it to flow through him…

When Harry could blink and see something besides white and grey, there was a distant black form standing at the edge of the projected world. Without warning, the ruddy bastard fell forward and disappeared into the fog, causing Harry's heart to jump.

"Don't be stupid," Harry muttered, "It's not like that'd kill—" The whole world tilted at a jarring angle and then flipped over completely, flinging Harry with it. Letting out a surprised cry, he found himself weightless for a moment before gravity reasserted itself and his body dropped towards the clouds. Something went taut around his ankles and his body came to a jarring halt. Both of his ankles were unharmed from the sudden drop, and Harry had to remind himself that the projection was a waking dream despite it feeling real. Swaying upside-down by his ankles, even now he couldn't see what was keeping him from falling. At least his button-down shirt remained tucked in and hadn't ridden up to his chin.

Above his head and hands were the clouds barricading his happiness, but the sensation of gravity now said it was below. Irritated that something would keep him from his happy memories, Harry craned his head up to look at the bodies of water. The ponds and lake weren't disturbed by the sudden reorientation; The ponds kept bubbling and the lake's glossy surface remained unmarred. Of course, they were merely representations of his mind so it wasn't as if they had to follow the laws of physics. Though that didn't explain why Harry was the only thing that seemed to be affected. A slight shard of panic quivered. "Don't be ridiculous. Bastard's still be using Legilimency."

That was a very unnerving thought that someone could leave Harry like this for as long as they wanted. Using his abdominal muscles, Harry swung his arms up to grab whatever 'chains' were there. He wrapped his hands around what felt like ice-cold links, feeling pressure building inside his head. For one heart-stopping moment Harry thought Snape was communing with the soul-shard. No, whatever dark thing it was… it wasn't the soul-shard as Harry supposed. He could somewhat gauge when he was connected to a sound mind, and the cackling thing he sensed through the invisible chains was anything but. He breathed in deeply to set aside the panic before it coated him in mud and cocked his head, focusing inward.

Beyond the breathy cackles, there was a voice on the wind, a hissing sound that reminded him of blowing sand. Something was happening on the other side. To Snape.

" _Come to me!_ " Multiple voices hissed as one, and suddenly Harry found that he was released from the Legilimency. The office floor came into view as Harry cradled his head in the plush chair. Scar tingling, Harry forced himself upright as he rubbed his forehead. Snape was looking at him with a most unreadable expression. His face was even paler than usual, terrified, no doubt, to have heard his Master beckoning.

"What is it?" Harry asked faintly, knowing the answer.

" _Get out_ ," Snape said ferociously; with a vicious swish of his wand, the door swung open with a BANG. "You are  _hopeless_  at Occlumency!"

"But… but, sir, how am I—"

"Get. Out!" The snarl raised hairs on the nape of Harry's neck as his head throbbed. When he hesitated, he was thrown back with a nonverbal jinx through the open door. "OUT!"

Harry landed in a heap on the floor in the short corridor outside the Head of House's office, and it slammed shut with another BANG. He sat up, unharmed, and looked at the door. "Bugger," he muttered. Ruddy bastard had lost his nerve to teach him. His self-preservation had rightly kicked in and refused; any twit with a brain would have done the same when suddenly met with a direct link to Voldemort, especially when they were a Death Eater who had been caught helping his enemy.

"You alright, Harry?" It was Dennis.

"Yeah," he lied to the tiny first year, seeing that the rest of the common room was staring at him, "I'm fine." He picked himself up and went to his dorm-room.

The soul-shard hadn't been blowing hot air about Voldemort fiddling with their connection. Maybe the chains Harry couldn't see were the newly forged link between them. It possibly explained why a soul-branded Death Eater could see them, but not Harry.  _But I have a bit of Voldemort's soul. Surely that would let me see it?_  Harry puzzled over that.

Entering his room, he glanced at Theodore's back as the other Slytherin worked on his wand forms and wondered exactly when he would tell his friends. Sitting at his desk, he questioned if it was safe to tell  _anyone_.

' _Yes, doing nothing is **always**  the better option_,' Draco's voice said snidely from Harry's memories.

"What's the matter with you?"

Harry looked into those grey eyes and for the first time saw the son of a Death Eater, who wanted nothing more than to serve a powerful Dark Lord. A Dark Lord, whose cause he could devote his whole being to. With eyes like those, Draco would likely never have Harry's trust. "It's nothing…" Shrugging the unpleasant thoughts away, Harry pulled out a roll of parchment on which his first draft of a Transfigurations essay was written. He squinted at it with a deep frown.

With a loud side, Draco plucked the parchment from his fingers. "I'll edit it and hand it back before the end of the day."

"Thanks," Harry muttered at his desk.

"Don't mention it."

Once Draco left him alone, Harry pulled out a sheet of parchment. Things would get out of hand quickly if he didn't keep the headmaster informed.

_Dear headmaster,_

_You said to write if anything unusual were to happen. So here it is._

_I don't know if Professor Snape has told you, but Voldemort now knows that Professor Snape is helping me. Snape kicked me out of his office just this evening. I don't think he'll teach me anymore. Maybe he saw that Occlumency is useless in my situation, I don't know. He didn't say, but I understand that Dreamless Sleep draughts are only a temporary fix so there needs to be a more permanent solution._

Harry's quill lifted from writing as he paused to think. The headmaster so far hadn't given any indication that he knew about the soul-shard, but then maybe he didn't want to frighten Harry with the possibility… Harry couldn't imagine Lord Slytherin not informing Professor Dumbledore. In  _Hogwarts, A History,_ the paintings of previous headmasters and headmistresses were tasked to help and obey the current headmaster no matter what.

_I do know that the others aren't safe around me. I've lost my temper three times in the past eight months, so it's only a matter of time before I lose against the combined forces of the link with Voldemort and that embedded thing in my forehead and seriously hurt someone._

_Might it be best if I didn't come back to Hogwarts next year? At least until I can get rid of one or the other._

_Please advise._

_Harry_

Harry blotted the ink, folded the letter, and pressed the metal seal of the Potters, against the awaiting disc of green wax. With a touch of the wand, the seal heated and sunk into it. When he took it away, two youths were riding an absurdly large unicorn. They held a bowl up towards the night sky and caught stars falling from it. He did not address the envelope. A tapping on the window brought Harry's attention away from it.

"I've got it," Crabbe said, hoisting himself off the floor. He let Hedwig in, who flew to Harry's shoulder.

The soft white owl hooted softly, preening at his hair as if she knew he was upset. He offered her a treat which she quickly made short work of. "Hullo, Hedwig." Pulling another letter off his desk's shelf, he offered them to her and looked into her golden eyes. "This goes to the headmaster first. The other to my godfather."

With a louder hoot, she alighted, gliding out the window with both envelopes, one blank and the other addressed with excessive lines, as the outrageous amount of regulations on post to felons stipulated, tightly clasped in her talons.

Harry watched until he could no longer see her.

* * *

February Fourteenth arrived in a burst of mayhem and manic cheer quite unlike the previous year when Harry hadn't even noticed St. Valentine's Day. No one had sent him anything, which might have been caused by the swarm of dementors on Hogwarts grounds. He remembered last year had mostly been miserable and furtive, and around this time he had been learning the Patronus Charm from Lupin.

So it had been a huge shock when student after student, be they witches or wizards, hailing from every House and school delegation dropped off their valentines. The hopefuls expressed confusion that their owls kept returning to them. Harry was not so much of an arse to burn them in front of his numerous admirers, but by the time lunch arrived, Harry had just about had it. Sally-Anne had Transfigured a piece of parchment into a pouch and then Charmed it to be Extendable. Harry knew the vellum-colored pouch had nearly reached its limit.

So, during free period their younger housemates had been thrilled to empty the pouch of the various charmed origami animals and boxes of chocolates and cauldron cakes. Harry figured that the prefects would watch the younger years in case any of them were poisoned by the sweets; one never could be too careful with a group like Down With Potter around.

By the time they went up the Astronomy tower, Harry hated to admit that his friends had been right as he shoved yet another gift into the vellum pouch. Once he and his friends were settled into their places, Harry said to Sally-Anne, "Next year, I need some way to keep my nutty fans away... Or at least restrict their gift-giving to one item."

Lit by dim candlelight, she simply gave him a curious look as if he knew perfectly well what he could do to avoid the same fate next year and marked down planetary alignments on her chart.

"Go out with someone and it won't be a problem," Theodore whispered as he peered through their shared telescope and made notations on his constellation chart. Harry didn't bother with a response.

The next day there was still no response from either Dumbledore or Black. Harry didn't let it get under his skin, continuing to write to his godfather at the least.

With his days a little less hectic because of the lack of detention and Occlumency lessons, Harry found he had ample time to hang around his friends, but he could not bring himself to talk about the soul-shard. While Harry had Potions detention for three months straight, Sally-Anne and Theodore had taken up space in an unused classroom in the dungeons, preferring to work there—with Professor Snape's permission— rather than the library or common room since Theodore needed rigorous tutelage on spellcasting. Head Boy Wynch had Warded it against all manner of espionage, magical or not, and had left a prefect badge permanently affixed to the wall. In case of an emergency, they could tap it with a finger and summon either the Head Boy or Professor Snape.

After Theodore called it quits for the day, the trio spent time catching up. Sally-Anne said that she'd hit a block with more advanced non-verbal magic; she had a large arsenal of simple charms, hexes, curses, jinxes, and transfigurations, but that was it.

"Probably best that you can't, Sal. Doing magic non-verbally with your MVS still developing is dangerous enough."

Sally-Anne lifted a shoulder and a hand carelessly. "You're right. I should be satisfied." She scowled. "But I don't want Draco catching up to me. As soon as he beats me at a duel, I'll be a second-class citizen again."

"I doubt it," Harry said, surprising them since he'd been so silent. He scratched his scar. "Look. If he was still harboring prejudices against witches, he wouldn't have submitted that duel to you. He hasn't challenged you in ages. Haven't you seen the difference?"

"He's still a prat," Theodore said.

"I suspect that won't ever change," Sally-Anne said, crossing her arms. "Fine. I'll give it a rest. Wouldn't do to cripple myself before I make prefect next year."

"You? Prefect?" She swatted at Theodore playfully, and he ducked away laughing.

With an easy smile as the two fussed at each other, Harry asked, "Saw it in a dream then?"

"I see many things. That one took me by surprise."

"Makes sense. I mean someone has to cover for me," Theodore said before the topic moved to Sally-Anne's dreams about the Second Task. She told Harry that he would need to wait with the hostages in the depths of Black Lake until the two champions to collect their treasures came and went, and Theodore relayed that Lupin was doing very well compared to six months ago.

A stroke of brilliance came to Harry. "Theo, could I owe you a favor?" With that he had their full attention.

"What could I possibly do for you?"

"Lupin has within his possession a magical artifact of great value. It looks like nothing special, an old bit of folded up parchment. It's called the Marauder's Map and it was created twenty years ago by four Hogwarts students." Harry leaned forward, whispering, "It reveals the whereabouts of every single person on Hogwarts grounds."

Their eyes popped open. Theodore looked as though his mind was racing a mile a minute, probably working out what it would take to accomplish something so grand.

Sally-Anne recovered first. "That would be a boon to us as long as we could keep it out of others' hands."

Harry nodded. "He promised to return it to me when I was responsible enough, but…"

"Who knows when that'll be." Theodore frowned. "Mate, I don't think he'd change his mind if I asked him for it. Unless you mean for me to steal it from him? Because that's next to impossible, especially if he keeps it on him. I'm his packmate, but he's the pack leader. If he discovers the map missing, he'd go into a rage." He eyed Harry, who was looking rather worried now. "But I'll try my best."

"Nix the idea about stealing then. If you do manage to convince him to part with it, try activating it. You have to say  _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_  and give the parchment a tap. I've no idea if you can activate it off of Hogwarts grounds though."

"How long did you have this in your possession? It would have helped us find Sirius Black faster..." Sally-Anne trailed off at the scowl that formed on Harry's face. "No?"

"I spent ages staring at the bloody thing and didn't find him. I think he spent a lot of his time in the Forbidden Forest or the Shrieking Shack."

They nodded. Sally-Anne looked at the clock ticking quietly against the wall. "We should head back soon, but I'd like to know what you wanted to tell Theo when that vision woke you two months ago… If you're up to it."

Harry took in a deep breath, centering himself. He was with the two friends he trusted very deeply. "Long story short? I'm linked to Lord Vole. This link was forged when he tried to kill me as an infant. The spell backfired and he broke apart, lodging a piece of himself. Right here." Harry pointed at his scar. "That's how come I can do advanced Dark Arts and why I have fits of rage. It takes over."

As he spoke, he watched them grow more and more horrified. He was worried that they would bolt, but Theodore's first question was, "Does it hurt you or compel you to self-harm?"

"Er…?" Harry blinked furiously. He had expected judgment, even criticism, not worry.

 ** _You are the vessel in which I am hidden. Why would I seek to destroy you?_** Its whisper was tantalizing, soft and mesmerizing.  ** _We could be so much more…_**

Fists clenched, Harry mentally slammed the door on it. "It… ah… it wants to take me over. It tried to put me in danger when it placed my name into the Goblet of Fire as an entrant for Hogwarts champion. Which didn't work since Diggory's the champion." Harry's stomach was churning, but their faces looked as serene and calm as ever.

"So the duel with Snape?"

Harry nodded at Sally-Anne.

"And when you threw off the Imperius Curse the fourth time?"

He nodded again, this time to Theodore.

"And the cursed chalk incident?"

"Yes, and it also came out during my fight with Yaxley." His friends were exchanging looks again. "I understand if you don't want to be friends with me anymore."

"Are you kidding?" Theodore nearly exploded. "You've got a bit of  _him_ in you and it's protecting you! You're in a most advantageous position of anyone."

Harry's jaw dropped, his calm unraveling. "Weren't you listening? It wants to take me over! I-I hear it most of the time now."

"What's stopping it?" Sally-Anne asked gently as if she were worried that he would spook easily.

"Joy. I use my memories of you and Theo to keep it isolated from me. I don't know why it works."

A silent Sally-Anne grinned and patted Harry's right shoulder, while Theodore clasped Harry's left. "We're honored that you finally trust us to keep a huge secret like this. You can rely on us to help you out if you go into a rage again," Theodore said solemnly.

Feeling extraordinarily relieved, Harry glanced at one and then the other. "You're both taking this much better than I imagined."

"Obviously, you can't help it. You would've gotten rid of it already or asked for our assistance earlier if that were the case. Besides, it only seems to come out when its pride is besmirched," Sally-Anne stated, drawing her hand away from him. "So, who else knows?"

"Snape. Professor Dumbledore." Harry worried at his upper lip. "Daphne. She caught my eyes right after I found out. She's been acting strangely ever since."

"I'm not surprised," Theodore said, "Word is that power, particularly those with phenomenal magical skill, is a huge turn-on for her."

Harry snorted. The intense scrutiny she gave him and the relentless rumors were because she had a crush on him? Now he understood why she seemed jealous of Tracey.

"That explains so much." Sally-Anne shook her head with a laugh. "Like why Daphne chose Prefect Renshaw for her date to the Yule Ball. He's quite the gifted wizard among the sixth years." Her lips quirked. "And why others try to court her when she doesn't give them the time of day."

"I've been lucky to slip under her radar because of my poor showing for the first three years, but I also don't look her in the eyes or my secret would've been known across the school five times over by now," Theodore said, hand squeezing Harry's shoulder, "I'm surprised she hasn't closed the trap on you."

"Trap?" Harry echoed.

"What he means is that she blackmails people into dating her. It's a Greengrass specialty, specifically for those with the Legilimency gift. But I don't think she'll do it to you, Harry. She's likely keeping the secret about harboring a piece of  _him_  because she knows it's a terrible idea to blackmail you." Sally-Anne glanced at Theodore. "Because of what happened with Professor Snape, Professor Moody, and Yaxley."

"You're right, Sal. Daphne's not stupid enough to endanger herself." Theodore nodded.

Harry glanced at them both, airing a question that he'd wanted to ask Snape before Harry was thrown out. "Would Occlumency work against the connection?"

"Likely not. Occlumency doesn't defend against something that's already inside, only hinder it," the werewolf answered. "It won't help if madness is in the blood, so I doubt it would help if something's stuck in your magical core either."

"I see." Disappointing, but not unexpected. Closing his eyes, Harry sensed his friends' presence, Sally-Anne being the quieter of the two. He breathed in, tasting the magic in the room and distinguishing the warm bodies he sat between. Theodore's presence was bedlam, like uncultivated foliage fighting for their patch of ground and sunlight and water. There was also a murky quality to it compared to Sally-Anne's, holding something lying hidden and dormant.

When Harry opened his eyes again, his friends were looking at him expectantly. He couldn't see their magic, but it slopped and sloshed against him.  _Trying to impart calm and comfort_ , he thought. He looked at the clock. "Shouldn't we head out?" He stood, brushing his robes down and arranging his Spellfast Cloak.

They nodded and gathered their things. Once they entered the common room, however, their housemates crowded the floor.

"What's going on?" Theodore asked the nearest person.

"Mandatory meeting. Professor Snape called it," Amrish Gupta, a second year, responded quickly.

"Someone's been hurt and badly," Gupta's friend, Garrick Newbourne said.

As several people passed through the crowd, they fell silent. With fierce expressions, every prefect stepped onto the staircase with wizards on the left and witches on the right, separated by year. Fifth-years Carmine and Brunt stood at the lower steps just high enough for everyone in the common room to see them, the sixth-years Sykes and Renshaw several steps higher than them, while the seventh-year Prefects Dedworth and Kinnely were standing on a couple steps lower than the Head Boy, who stood on Kinnely's side. Wynch was one step below the Head of House, who stood at the center.

Professor Snape, hair exceptionally greasy and unkempt, peered beadily down at them. "This evening," he said slowly as his eyes raked across them. "There was a Potions accident… which was nothing of the sort."

Unexpectedly, not a single person whispered, though Harry knew everyone wanted just as badly for the bastard to hurry up and tell them.

"Geoffrey Yaxley has landed in St. Mungo's under the effects of a particularly nasty potion: Yin-Yang Formula No. Thirty-Nine. It had interacted with the base of Yaxley's brewing assignment resulting in a near-lethal explosion. This was sabotage." Snape glanced around the room, eyes stopping briefly on Harry's face with a look that could husk rust off iron. Besides that glare, the adult looked remarkably indifferent to what he was saying. "There exists one vial. Held within it is the only remedy to his situation. I expect it, on my office desk, by the end of the week. Should you have any hesitation, I suggest you visit the boy to witness the effects of such a  _Dark_  brew yourself." He paused unnecessarily, as if he appreciated the deference he commanded over the whole of the house. "You may go."

The vipers split apart, going up the stairs to their dormitories. Harry only caught a glimpse of Tracey's back before her form was swallowed by larger seventh years behind her.

"Harry?" Sally-Anne whispered.

He turned to his friends, feeling an immense amount of guilt. It must have shown on his face because Sally-Anne hugged him; the last time she had done so Harry had collapsed when his Patronus had failed against the dementor-boggart in the Snape-run DADA class.

"Slimy git deserved it," Theodore murmured.

"It was only meant for self-defense," Harry whispered against Sally-Anne's soft hair. His friends had equally shocked expressions on their faces.

"Harry, everything alright?"

They startled apart at the Head Boy's voice. He peered down at the fourth years with a frown on his face since the rest of the common room had largely cleared out to go to bed.

"It will be," Harry promised. He set his jaw into a scowl, knowing precisely who was at fault for the potions accident.

"I've seen you practice the Bubble-Head Charm in different temperatures of water, with or without light, so often that I'm certain you could do it in a vacuum. You've done everything you can. Now, head to bed to get some rest. The Second Task  _is_  the day after tomorrow," Wynch said.

With a parting good-night to Sally-Anne, a troubled Harry went to his dorm-room with Theodore. If he couldn't get the vial back from Tracey by the end of the week, then what would the ruddy bastard do to him?

"Ah, your Grace." Dressed in frumpy sleep robes, Draco smirked at him. Crabbe and Goyle were staring at a new magazine, eyes intense without the giggles of previous years. "Branching out, are we?"

"Whatever you're talking about has nothing to do with me," Harry said dismissively, Switching out his robes.

"What did Yaxley do?"

"How do you mean? You can't seriously be suggesting that Harry had anything to do with it?" Theodore gave Draco a curious look, backing Harry without needing to be asked to.

"A Novice Potion Stirrer could handily whip up a Yin-Yang Formula," Draco stated with supreme irritation. "And my godfather wasn't bluffing by the severity of effects." The prat shook a shabby book at them with one hand. Its title was  _Formulae Moste Foul_. "Yaxley is blind with nerve damage so severe that he can't bear sunlight or even the faintest whisper against his skin. There are blisters on top of other blisters marking every inch of him. He could go mad if he isn't given the second dose soon." He waved his wand at the book in his other hand, and it opened violently to where pages were marked. He held the book up for them to see. The most gruesome drawings revealed quite plainly the effects and the contorted faces of those afflicted with it; Harry was already familiar with them. "Since Geof was the only heir of his family line, Mr. Yaxley will be certain to press charges against the culprit if they come to light and have them sent to Azkaban."

"I didn't sabotage his potion," Harry said after taking a vial of the draught from his desk.

"But you brewed the complements didn't you?"

"Good night, Draco," Harry said by his bed, uncorking the vial.

Draco stared at Harry with unbridled awe. "Yet you still deny your Dark nature, Harry?"

The Salem Institute champion stepped out of his shoes. "I said  _good night_ , Draco." He pulled the curtains shut around the bed while Theodore and Draco began to argue over whether Harry was destined to be a Dark Lord. His werewolf friend sided with Harry, naturally.

Snape was a ruddy bastard. Harry was not to trust him, and yet… and yet the greasy-haired git had the nerve to shield him from Azkaban for his part in brewing an illegal set of potions. Who the hell was the adult playing? Voldemort knew he helped Harry with Occlumency and yet indicated that the adult's presence was required. There hadn't been threats or even anger. Harry had clearly felt Voldemort's amusement and regard for the Potions Master. Wouldn't Voldemort desire Harry in Azkaban? Did the madman yet realize what Harry was harboring was far beyond a magical entanglement? Harry could sense the darkness stirring in the back of his mind, but he had left no cracks for it to slip through and it soon settled down. Harry downed the potion and was drawn into sleep before his head hit the pillow.

Having deactivated the Torpor Rune since he began taking the Dreamless Draught again, Harry woke up as soon as it wore off, which was steadily getting earlier as the weeks passed. After a casual spell, he knew that the sun wouldn't be up for hours yet. He quickly dressed and picked up his bookbag, heading down to the chilly common room. At four in the morning, not a soul was in sight. Hit with sudden nostalgia, he took an alcove by the window and curled up with the latest supplemental Transfigurations reading. Time passed and the murky green water began to illuminate with the slow dawn coming. A greenish hand suddenly came out from the darkness and pressed against the glass, startling Harry so soundly that he nearly toppled off the windowseat.

" _Aa-ree!"_  A haunting whistle followed and then the shadow in the water pressed its face against the glass.

Harry blinked at the mermaid's slightly smashed features, her yellow eye staring at him fixedly. "Rah-ee-ahtri. It's been  _ages_. How're you? Oh. Wait. You don't know what I'm saying, do you?"

Her greenish lips pulled at the corners of her mouth revealing sharp teeth. She pulled back her hair floating wildly about her. Her cheekbones had widened and her chin lengthened, giving her a striking appearance despite losing the elfin softness. Her facial fins were more sharply defined. " _Missed you_ ", she hummed, her eyes bright and piercing. " _Learned human-speak_."

"It's only one kind of human-speak, but most common here," Harry said with a stunned tone, surprised that she had learned to communicate with him. "Sorry. I don't know a lick of Mermish."

" _Maybe Aa-ree learn if survive next danger…"_ In the brightening lake, Harry could make out a trident in her other hand and dainty shells dangling from her seaweed-like hair, hair which obscured her upper torso. Now and then her fish tail would flap slowly to maintain her height.

"Sorry? Danger?" He said with a bit of confusion.

"… _Aa-ree is a Champion,_ " Rah-ee-ahtri said mournfully.

"Oh! You would know about the Second Task wouldn't you? Since it's at the bottom of Black Lake," Harry babbled and wasn't sure why he was babbling.

The unblinking mermaid let out another whistle, sharp and ascending in tone. " _Aa-ree's plan is magic?"_

"Erm. No, I was going to use Gillyweed, but I don't really have enough because—" Harry nearly choked on his words as he let out a laugh at himself. "Actually, I know this is rather sudden, but would you happen to have any Gillyweed?"

Her facial fins fluttered, opening and closing around her cheekbones. " _What is that?"_

Hope brimming, Harry's hand dove into his pouch and pulled out the vessel of gross green gunk. Since it was difficult to see in the ambient light, he cast " _Lumos!"_

The Selkie's light-green skin of her face was flawlessly smooth, scales cropping up down her neck and collarbones. A thick necklace of pebbles was bound with lakeweed around her neck. She strung together incomprehensible melodic sounds and then said, "… _Gill's Weed?"_

"Yes! Do you have any?"

She looked him in the eyes and swam back a little as if self-conscious. " _I am betrothed."_

Harry blinked multiple times at the strident statement. He looked down at the jar of Gillyweed and then at her and then down again. That's when it came to him. "Oh! No, no. I—sorry, I'm not interested in you. I need Gilly's Weed to complete the task so I don't drown—er, die. I can hold my breath for a minute or two but any longer…" Her powerful tail kicked her forward again and she placed a palm against the glass. Harry splayed his fingers out over it like he had as a first year. "But enough about me. Congratulations on your engagement. Do you love them?"

The smile pulled her lips tight as her eyes alighted. She spoke again in that beautiful haunting language. Then she tilted her head back, looking towards the surface of the lake.  _"Light in the darkness. Without, I am lost, drifting forever._ " She peered at him. " _You weigh under fifteen stone?"_

That stretched Harry's mind back to primary school with old measurement conversions. He had no idea how much he weighed, but he had to be less than a hundred kilos. "…I should hope so."

Appearing to hear something from the distance, she dropped her webbed hand from the glass, looking off into the murky distance. " _I must go!"_

"Wait, what about the Gillyweed?" But in a silvery flash of her powerful tail, his Selkie friend was gone. He still had his original plan, but it would be nice if he didn't have to worry about the Gillyweed running out at all.

Putting the vessel away, Harry decided that he had done enough class work for the day and would spend the rest of it with his friends as much as classes allowed.

Classes were cancelled the next day. His Slytherin brethren were checking off a list to see if everyone was present and accounted for. Harry had gone to breakfast with Theodore and Sally-Anne, while Pansy, Tracey, Daphne, and Bulstrode remained in the common room waiting to see who was missing. Goyle and Crabbe were waiting for Draco, who Prefect Dedworth had said was in the Snape's office. He'd been summoned from the room after Harry had fallen asleep the previous night and had yet returned. Harry hoped the prat wasn't currently at the bottom of Black Lake because that would make the task abominable.

Before the meal was over, Harry had been led to a tent by Hagrid, had changed into the provided swimwear and matching champion robes, and was now waiting with the other champions. The four listened to Professor Flitwick tell them their task, though Harry's mind wandered. He pushed his hand through the wandform of the Bubble-Head Charm absently as the Charms professor mentioned that one of the Quadwizard Tournament judges had temporarily been replaced owing to a Summons before the Wizengamot.

Harry and the champions were led down a path to a dock. Because of the mist hanging over them, Harry couldn't check the angle of the sun, but they had passed numerous trees. Judging by the pattern of moss, Harry surmised they were heading in a southeasterly direction. When they arrived at the lake, its surface had been de-iced with magic since the weather hadn't warmed to a balmy enough temperature for it to thaw completely. Then the champions climbed into the only boat, one at a time. Hopping in behind them, Professor Flitwick pointed his wand at the water behind the stern, and they jetted across the glossy black surface towards four enormous, multi-storied platforms standing in the very middle of Black Lake.

It was quite obvious which platform each champion was supposed to stand on. Flapping in the stiff, chilly breeze, each school's banner hung at the front and back of the platforms. Swaths of fabric wrapped around the railings and supports were of any of the four colors representing the schools.

Disembarking onto the bottommost platform of the rightmost one, Harry was greeted by Ms. Oke and Percy Weasley. He heard the boat jet away as he shook hands with Percy. He peered into the water. As its name suggested, it was too dark to see if anything was held in its black depths. As time trickled by, countless boats carried spectators to each platform, disembarking passengers to a stairway leading to the second tier.

"Doing alright, 'Arry?" Hagrid who had been the only one to disembark from his boat bellowed from the stairs.

"Yes, Hagrid!" Harry smiled at him, and then his eyes tracked up to the second tier. He didn't see any of his friends above him, though he saw many of his housemates along with his rabid fans and admirers wearing the colors of different houses. There were a few from Beauxbatons and absolutely none from Durmstrang.

"Principal Oke, we made it!" A wizard cried from the stairwell, wearing a fedora, amid others who wore bowl-like hats of white that hung neatly over their ears with a dark grey ribbon about the brim. "Principal Oke!" cried the others. The adult from the States waved languidly with a half-smirk.

"Wait, are they…?" Harry said, staring at the quartet that had just disembarked. Another four joined them, crying out enthusiastic greetings to Ms. Oke, wearing thick grey gloves and black, wooly scarves. They wore the pin-striped robes that he'd grown accustomed to. Similar to the charcoal grey trousers, he noticed that some were wearing grey slacks that stopped at mid-calf with black socks and black shoes beneath. He did find it a bit odd that some witches were wearing fedoras, but maybe the uniform parameters were not as strictly enforced there. Within minutes, their numbers had doubled and the greetings for the tall witch beside Harry increased.

"Had a lot of interest from students wanting to come abroad for this," Ms. Oke said to him with a wry grin. "I paid for their airplane tickets and the school scraped together enough to lodge them at The Three Broomsticks for the next four months." She wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and hollered, "AND WHO IS THIS?"

"HARRY POTTER!" A group of students cheered now above them on the second tier. When he hadn't been looking, they had unrolled a banner in their gloved hands, which they shook, that proclaimed the surety of his win.

"Thanks!" He yelled at them. Gratitude seemed to be the wrong thing to convey since their well-wishing became deafening.

Percy Weasley must have hated the commotion for he pointed his wand at them and waved. Despite their sudden silence, the group continued to scream and carry on in their support of Harry. His ears were still ringing.

Ms. Oke waved fingers in her champion's face. "Hey. Okay there?"

"Yeah." Harry turned to the other judge. "Mr. Weasley. How's your progress on regulating cauldron bottom thickness going?"

"Slowly," the Hogwarts graduate said, looking a little less pinched. "You can call me Percy. Mr. Weasley reminds me of my father."

"Right. Percy then."

"I haven't seen any letters of complaint from you yet."

"I'll get on that after the task. Would that be alright?"

Percy nodded. "I shouldn't have to be here, really. But because of the indecent accusations leveled against Mr. Crouch…" He shook his head and went on a diatribe about how terrible it was that the Wizengamot was dredging up the past when they really ought to leave it alone. "He was heartbroken when he had to send his only son to Azkaban and then his wife took ill and passed away? Just dreadful business."

This was news to Harry. "What accusations?"

"Now, Harry," Ms. Oke said, "You should be focused on the Second Task, not grisly rumors of the Crouch debacle."

"You're quite right, Principal Oke. How unprofessional of me to gossip about information that isn't public," Percy said. "My apologies, Harry."

Harry frowned at them, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth the fight. A chorus of cries brought his attention upwards to the second and third tiers of the Hogwarts platform, though he could see little more than outlines in the mist. "Look!" Someone shouted. He jogged over to where the onlookers were pointing and saw nothing but choppy dark waters. Dropping to his knees, he bent over the ledge and saw two bright yellow eyes staring up at him beneath the dock, dark green hair plastered to the Selkie's forehead. Her mouth and nose remained beneath the water. A webbed hand offered a ball of dark green lakeweed and water grasses. "Thank you, Rah-ee-ahtri." When he took it, she grasped his wrist and pulled him forward, nearly unbalancing him into the frigid waters.

Meeting him halfway out of the water, her cold, wet mouth covered Harry's and a slimy tongue flicked over his closed lips. Playful yellow eyes bored into his that caused heat to rise in his face, and then someone grabbed Harry by the shoulders and yanked him up, Rah-ee-ahtri's fingernails rasping along the underside of his wrist. "Harry! Are you alright?" The Salem Institute principal was quite fretful.

"Yeah," he said, feeling a bit breathless from the spike of adrenaline. He was a bit dizzy from being righted suddenly after nearly hanging upside-down.

"What's in your hand?"

Wiping his mouth with a robe sleeve, he showed her the fresh Gillyweed, and the principal clapped his arm.

"You player, you! Lost your first kiss to a Selkie then? Bet they were pleased."

Harry thought his hair might turn red from the flush that crept up to his scalp. "I've been kissed before."

"Oh, yeah?" Ms. Oke smiled impishly, tapping his wrist. "She didn't look like she wanted to let you go."

Tugging his arm away with a quick twist of his wrist, Harry turned towards the waters and inspected the Gillyweed. It felt rubbery in his hands. He lifted it to his face and sniffed. It lacked the disgusting odor of rotten fish and hairballs, so that was a bonus, though it still looked revolting.

"So what is it?" The principal asked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the pillar next to him.

"An herb that will let me breathe underwater for an hour." He hoped it would only be for an hour. He hadn't mentioned that tidbit to Rah-ee-ahtri, but maybe she already knew if she was aware of the Second Task.

"Cool," the adult said to Harry, once the commotion from that announcement calmed down. "You make my life easier when you can take care of yourself. I feel guilty for not being more of a help."

"Champions!" Professor Flitwick called from his boat. "Be ready to jump into the lake at the sound of the cannon."

"Good luck!" Ms. Oke snapped her fingers and the raucous noise above them crashed down upon them again.

Hardly paying any mind to who was watching, Harry quickly disrobed in the freezing air and stood in his black swim trunks and skintight sleeveless green shirt with lightning-shaped swatches of silver, black, and white. Over his heart resided Slytherin's crest. He tapped his wand against his Glaxxes; they obediently changed into watertight wraparounds. Since the mist had lifted quite a bit, Harry glanced to the platform to his left and saw that Diggory was wearing similar swimwear as him, except it was a black body suit with yellow trim and the Hufflepuff's crest affixed to his shirt. He could see Krum in red and black and Delacour in blue, but none of the details due to the distance between platforms.

"Welcome to the Second Task," Professor Dumbledore announced above them, "Something was stolen from each of our champions. A treasure of sorts."

After Harry did a whispered " _Point_ Me" to determine which way was North, he re-holstered his wand. When Draco learned of Harry's plan, he had looked up the properties of Gillyweed—likely to double-check Neville—and had told Harry what to expect after he ate it. Cupping the Gillyweed, Harry stared down at it. He needed to eat it before the cannon went off, since the transformation took about fifteen seconds to fully take. Draco had said that it was more comfortable to allow the changes to take place above-water than below. Then he warned that Harry wouldn't be able to breathe aboveground with gills. An annoyed Harry had told him that only someone with half a brain wouldn't know that.

"These four treasures, one for each champion now lie on the bottom of Black Lake… In order to win, each champion need only find their treasure and return to the surface."

Pinching his nose, Harry hurriedly stuck the Gillyweed in his mouth and chewed. He very nearly retched up the small bowl of porridge he had for breakfast; he'd wanted to avoid stomach cramps if he had to swim for an hour. But he hadn't counted on the taste of Gillyweed! It  _tasted_  worse than it looked and Harry had eaten half-rotted fruit before…!

Distantly, Harry heard Professor Dumbledore droning on about the Second Task.

"Swallow it," Ms. Oke encouraged quietly from behind Harry's shoulder. Startled, Harry almost choked on the unpleasant texture of slimy, rubbery octopus tentacles and grabbed hold of the railing near him so he didn't stumble into the lake by accident. After swallowing repeatedly, it finally slipped down his throat.  _Yugh_! Harry thought. His face pulled with revulsion when his stomach roiled.

Piercing pain overtook the sides of his neck and then Harry felt as though an invisible pillow had been pressed over his mouth and nose. He tried to draw breath, but it made his head spin; his lungs were empty! Through the panic, he remembered,  _You can't breathe with gills._  Chest burning, Harry clapped his hands around his throat and felt two large slits below his ears— _gills_! He had  _gills!_ Sound was becoming warped and warbled as he toppled onto his rear when his feet were suddenly unable to hold him, owing to them smoothing out into webbed flippers. The toes melted together into elongated fins. His heels looked as though they had climbed into his ankle. His hearing hadn't changed completely; he could still make out the cries of surprise from the transformation and the rest of Dumbledore's speech warning about not saving the hostages in time.

Then above a suffocating Harry came the loud din of cannon-fire. Chest burning for breath, he weakly rolled off the platform into the lake. He sucked down the water, feeling giddy when oxygen rushed into his brain. The Gillyweed had worked splendidly! Though he couldn't see well because of strange halos about everything… He lifted the Glaxxes until water filled the air pocket between his face and the Glaxxes. The murky green environment came into focus.

Like Neville had said and Draco had repeated, Harry could see that his fingers had become webbed. Harry kicked his legs, accidentally propelling himself down to where the platform's supports were deeply buried. Nor was the water icy as he expected… it was pleasantly cool. He ran fingers over his skin and it felt unusually bumpy.

 _Right, enough of that_. Harry had wasted enough time. Professor Dumbledore had said that nothing would save the hostages after the hour passed. After looking at the supports and determining the correct direction, he turned, fell gently forward, and then kicked his legs out, swimming as quickly as he could. Rah-ee-ahtri was nowhere to be seen.

Prefects Renshaw and Brunt had found an old map of the lake which outlined precisely where the merpeople's little hamlet lay according to the cardinal directions. Harry had memorized the distance and depth he would need to go to reach it. His flipper-like feet thrust him through the ghostly green water which surrounded him with unsettling light. The sound of distant noises—of fish darting through the water and of crab-like creatures scuttling across the rocky surfaces—reached his ears as he soared over the strange watery landscape: forests of rippling black lakeweed, wide plains of mud littered with glimmering stones, and coral-reef-like shelves built into the rocky cliffs jutting up around him. Despite its serene appearance, his Selkie friend's warning of danger rang in his mind.

Small fish flickered past him; once or twice he thought he saw something huge ahead, but it was always his mind playing tricks on him: driftwood or lakeweed. There were no signs of the other champions nor giant squid.

Harry went through the dense forest ahead of him, hearing a far-off strain of music… It must be coming from the merfolk's village! Swimming in a zigzag so he didn't tangle in the dense lakeweed, Harry paused when he heard something rushing behind him. He rolled out of the way, just as a giant shark-like creature bore down on him, curving to the left. Harry's hand went to his wand, but the creature was gone. He took out his wand anyway, disoriented by the sameness of the lakeweed.  _"Point me"_ , he croaked, and it rotated slowly in his webbed hand to North. He re-holstered it and flew through the water.

On the other side of the lakeweed forest, a cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly. Here and there at the dark openings of the dwellings, Harry saw faces of the merpeople. A few waved at him in greeting, recognizing him from the Slytherin common room, and he waved back. Thriving well in cold water, Selkies had grayish-green skin and flat chests. Their wild hair was generally long and dark algae-green, and their eyes were various shades of yellow. Many who waved wore thick ropes of shiny pebbles around their necks and beat their long fish tails to get a closer look at him as Harry swam past.

Soon the dwellings became much denser. The map must have been very old indeed since the little hamlet had bloomed into a large village; Harry spied small clumps of lakeweeds that must have passed as underwater gardens on the stone buildings and even saw what must have been a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one arched doorway, which growled as Harry passed.

" _Aa-ree!"_

He spun in place to see a bare-chested Selkie swimming excitedly towards him, trident tucked against its side. He recognized that large dot at the end of that tail. " _Rah-ee-ahtri_!" He said mournfully. It was very strange, speaking through water.

She smiled and flipped in place happily. Her musculature had thickened as the years had passed, but it was obvious that mermaids did not develop as human females did since she was flat-chested as all the other Selkies, which was a big difference to her warm-watered relatives. Her butter-yellow eyes glittered as she looked at his hands and feet. " _Gill's Weed?_ "

" _Yes!_ " Harry said. "N _o more kissing, Rah-ee-ahtri. If your fiancé knew, he might get upset."_

Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, leering and pointing at him with their webbed hands. The sound of Mermish filled the water with sweet noise.

" _No more, no more!"_ She agreed and flipped again, her green hair tumbling in a joyous manner. " _Kana-ool knows of first-kiss trade with Aa-ree. No worry."_

A distant, mournful song rolled over them, and several of the fish-tailed villagers dispersed. His friend looked a bit distressed as she listened. Her hair twisted limply and dragged through the water as she turned. " _You must go-o, Aa-ree!"_  She swayed, flushing her hands in the direction of the giant statue in the town's center. " _Before it's too late."_

Needing no reminders, Harry kicked forcefully away from her. He shot forward through ancient stone structures. Around a bend, he found the source of the singing. There was a large choir of merpeople humming in the middle of what looked to be a courtyard. Behind them was a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson cut from stone. Not knowing whether it was a he or she, Harry wondered who the merperson was.

A new haunting mersong rose from the choir…

 _"An hour long you'll have to look,_  
To recover what we took…  
Your time's half gone, so tarry not…  
Lest what you seek stays here to rot."

Did that mean that if a champion failed to collect their person that they'd be lost forever to the merpeople…? Harry felt adrenaline pour through his veins. Little wonder that Sally-Anne had dreamed that he had stayed until the very last moment when a champion was unable to collect their prize.

He saw four shadows suspended above the tail of the statue. As Harry swam nearer, there were several merpeople on guard, floating in a defensive position around the black shadows each holding the same trident-like spear that Rah-ee-ahtri had. The Slytherin wondered if he was going to have to fight them, but when they didn't charge he decided that the merpeople were keeping the stolen humans safe; Harry wasn't sure whether they were being protected from the townspeople or a traveling pack of grindylow.

The four-limbed shadows morphed into four people, each of them tied by an ankle and looking as though they were made of wax… From behind, there was one small figure, two about Harry's size, and a large one. All four had hair floating like halos about their heads. In the greenish haze, the skin of their hands and wrists glowed white and their robes were dark and heavy. The smallest had fine, silvery hair, reminding Harry of Delacour. The largest and one of the others had hair the color of pitch and the final was a brunette. Curious, Harry swam around the group so he could see them properly.

As he'd thought, the smallest looked like a child no more than eight, possibly Delacour's younger sister by the jagged scar on her index finger where she'd originally lost it to a Nobtail and had to get it reattached.

Harry's eyes razed to the next one, who was Cho Chang and then to Hermione Granger. He started when he saw the last one of the group, who turned out to be the only male.

" _Not you!"_  Harry's yell came out with a clicky growl. The guards shifted to check him, found nothing amiss, and went back to looking out around them.

It was bloody Snape. Harry stared at his ex-Guardian and saw air bubbles trickle from the abnormally large nose. It would serve him right if he left the man down here to rot.

**_Don't be an idiot. He's far too useful to leave here._ **

_Shut it,_  Harry snapped.  _Doubt that Dumbledore would actually let the merfolk have any of them, warnings or not. There'd be an uproar in the Ministry if minors were taken, not to mention the international flap if Delacour's little sister was lost to the selkies forever._

**_Very well-reasoned. You will lose if you do not rescue your Stolen One._ **

An irritated Harry blocked it out. A bright flash of light that hissed through the water had him spinning around. The guards made a noise of displeasure at the sight of magic, and one of them shook an angry fist. Wearing a Bubble-Head Charm, Delacour had sent a Cutting Charm through the rope anchoring the young girl. Looking pointedly at him, the Beauxbatons champion tapped her wrist with a finger and then opened both hands twice, curved wand in her right.

Twenty minutes left… Harry nodded in understanding. Delacour took the stiff girl by the arm and swept her clumsily through the water upwards, wand fiercely gripped in the other.

Not a moment later, the merfolk shrieked and backed away from the three remaining hostages. Harry rolled to the side to see something monstrous cut through the water towards them; the shark-like creature nearly chomped down on him with its razor-sharp teeth. It tore through the rope binding Hermione to the statue, and then legs and arms began to form from the shark's long grey fins and powerful tail, revealing crimson swim trunks. Amazing. Krum was an Animagus.

Harry watched as the Gryffindor was carried off into the distance, heart sinking. Both champions had come and gone, meaning that it was time for Harry to go. He untied the rope around Chang's ankle and looped a right arm through her stiff left one.

Eyes closed and lips together in a residual scowl, Snape looked vexed even when his features were smooth by whatever spell had suspended him in time. The black hair acted like the others' underwater. Harry would have guessed it would be waterproofed by the grease and clumped together like the Selkies' hair.

 _"This is your bloody fault,_ " Harry said, his voice sounding eerie through the water. " _You're not supposed to mean anything to me. I'm not supposed to trust you."_

Holding his wand out with his left hand to cast the spell to ascend in water, Harry's guilt made him pause. He frowned at the adult who had taught him so much. He weighed the positive of 'rescuing' him against the consequences of not doing so. Likely the soul-shard was right; if he left the ruddy bastard, he wouldn't earn any points at all.

Coming to a decision, he begrudgingly aimed his wand where the rope had sprouted from the statue's tail. He made sure he was clear of the sodding bastard's ankle—if Harry had missed and cut off a toe, Snape was likely to provide testimony to send Harry straight to Azkaban—and cast, " _Diffindo!_ "

The merpeople scattered shrieking at the sight of him casting magic. The cutting spell was clean and left Snape unharmed. He looped his other arm around Snape's.

" _You only take your own_!" One of them wailed out. They began to converge on Harry to snatch Snape back, but there was a loud whistle and growl-clicks and they backed away.

Another Selkie appeared with piercing golden eyes, hair braided and without the thick necklaces of the others. There were scars littered down their tail, the marks of a grindylow attack. " _Go_ ," the deep voice commanded, swiping a hand towards the surface.

" _Thank_ you," Harry said. The Selkie nodded and with a melodic hum, the other guards dispersed. With several, powerful kicks, Harry carried the hostages upward. Theodore had suggested the Ascending spell in case there was an emergency, but with two hostages instead of one, Harry wasn't sure if he could hold both of them and point his wand upwards like the spell called for. Far above the merpeople's village, clouds of black hair threatened to obscure his sight as the currents changed. The water was growing colder.

Harry knew he would have had an easier time of it if he had left Chang behind, but he could already see the towers' shadowy foundations ahead of him. Not far from the surface where the spectators would be watching, the Gillyweed wore off. Letting the hostages ago, he twisted in agony. For a moment, Harry stupidly choked on the water forgetting he couldn't breathe water and then pointed the wand at himself to concentrate.

The bubble brought blessed air to Harry's lungs and he coughed to clear them. Breathing easily now, he swam up to grab the stiff bodies hovering halfway up the platform's supports when something, without warning, grabbed hold of his ankle. Harry twisted around and saw it was a grindylow, and below it were at least twenty others. In seconds, they latched on and were crawling all over his legs.

Remembering how the hostages had drifted upwards, Harry shoved the two to the surface of the lake. They might've been tied by an ankle because given enough time they would float to the surface. And then he was swarmed by a fifty-strong pack of grindylows. They scratched and tore at his skin, dragging him down so close to his goal. He cried out,  _Immobulus!_  A burst of light pressed outwards, and the grindylows were only momentarily stunned. A second later, they'd shaken their heads, and he was attacked once more.

Cold was numbing his hands; he had to get out of there if he expected to pass this task. He repulsed the pesky creatures and then immobilized them even though several Blasting Curses had been close to falling from his tongue. Before they could recover, he cried out,  _Ascendio!_  Wand pointed up, he shot up like a cork released from a bottle of champagne through even more grindylows. After he had passed, he looked down and saw a huge mass of them; there had to be at least a hundred of them. Due to the rush of movement, the Bubble-Head Charm popped, and the threads of magic faded around his face.

Harry held his breath until he felt his head break the surface of the lake. As soon as the water had parted, he took a long deep breath, and wonderful clear air filled and chilled his lungs. The sky was grey but open. Harry laughed, but that ended with a surprised yelp when he fell forward towards the diving deck he'd started from. With a hard THUD onto the wooden platform, Harry coughed terribly. He was distantly aware of people cheering around him as he pulled off the Glaxxes to drain it of murky water. His uncovered arms and legs stung from bites and scratches.

The piercing pain of a grindylows' claws still hooked around his ankle brought him back to awareness, but before he could off the ruddy thing a jet a light hit the foul demon in the chest and cast it back into the lake. Wynch's wand was held out for a tick longer and then holstered. The seventh year grinned, helping Harry to stand. "That was close. You alright?"

Shivering violently, Harry gave a short nod.

"Harry!" Professor Dumbledore said, suddenly beside him. A large thick towel was wrapped around Harry, and he suddenly felt a great deal warmer.

"Th-thanks," Harry said, teeth nearly chattering.

"Linda, he's all right," the headmaster said to Ms. Oke, who looked more fretful than usual. The old wizard turned to Professor Flitwick standing near him. "I want the judges over here to convene with the merfolk."

The diminutive professor nodded and hopped into a boat to collect the others. Chang looked as wet and cold as Harry was until he cast,  _"Ventus Clathian!"_ , and then a Warming Charm. Even though her hair was still wet, she was no longer in sodden robes. "Thanks," she said, while Harry cast the same spells on himself. The crowd's cheering above them was disorienting after the deep quiet of the lake.

Professor Dumbledore kneeled at the edge of the platform, threw his great beard over his shoulder, and then shoved his head underwater. Harry blinked at him, wondering if that was how people normally spoke to merfolk.

Ms. Oke thumped Harry's shoulder. "Playing hero, were you? You only needed to rescue Severus, though I get why you couldn't leave that hottie behind." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, leaving Harry flummoxed. "She was Diggory's date to the ball, wasn't she? A Miss Cho Chang?"

Harry's face grew hot. "That had nothing to do with it."

"Sure, it didn't." She winked with a broad grin.

Harry looked around. Speaking of the dour Potions Master, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Lookie! It's another mermaid!" Someone screamed with excitement, and then the crowd in the upper levels of the platform were making a great deal more of noise. "Lookit her headdress! Gotta be someone important!"

Apparently, the champions had come with the judges because Diggory came up to Harry, taking him by his shoulders. "You saved her!" The Hufflepuff let out a relieved little giggle, shaking Harry a bit. "My girlfriend. Thought I'd lost her forever."

Unable to look away from Diggory's intense gaze, Harry hoped he wasn't getting any bright ideas. One kiss was enough for the day—Chang planted her lips on Harry's cheek, though she quickly backed away. "Ced gets torn up when he isn't successful."

"Let's not forget that  **I**  helped you onto the platform," Draco said snobbishly. Harry started, staring at the prat like he was a stranger. He would have expected his roommate to announce his presence immediately, not as an afterthought. Of course, it wasn't out of character for Draco to leer at the Ravenclaw's soft swells, peeking out from her robes.

"Yes, you did, didn't you?" Diggory said with a playful glint to his eyes. He stood and grabbed Draco by the back of his wet head and planted a wet one right on the lips. Chang snickered.

"I was looking to kiss her, not  _you_!" Draco sneered, his cheeks pinked as he yanked himself back. "Now I've kissed a hundred people indirectly through your cold fish lips!"

Harry thought the description was a bit accurate, considering that Diggory looked half-frozen in his swimsuit.

Diggory laughed with his girlfriend and winked. "Truly, Malfoy. You're my hero." Then, he sidled next to Chang, who laid her head against his shoulder with a bright smile. Harry cast a quick Warming Charm at Diggory's back, thinking that the Hufflepuff had lost his common sense.

"Harry!" Sally-Anne exclaimed rushing towards him with Theodore at her side. He turned, still huddled under towels, and missed the surprised look from the Hogwarts champion. She took gentle hold of him. "Spent extra time, did you? You silly thing, you needlessly made third place." With a wave of her wand, she summoned his robes from the planks and held it out to him.

As Harry was shrugging into that, Theodore chuckled. "And thanks to you, your main rival's still in the running."

Feeling much better now that he was dry, Harry frowned at Sally-Anne. "I thought I tied for last."

"Cedric Diggory never made it past the grindylows," Wynch's voice said from Harry's left. "Hence his immense gratitude for rescuing his Stolen One." He nodded to Draco who muttered under his breath about lustful Hufflepuffs.

Seeing Krum holding a blushing Hermione Granger in his arms and Delacour tending to her little sister, Harry looked around but still saw no sign of a sallow-skinned black-robed figure. He'd rescued the bloody bastard and the adult had snuck off without a word of thanks! Ungrateful git.

"Attention!" It was the headmaster's voice, obviously amplified by a spell. "After convening with Merchieftain Murcus, we have therefore awarded marks out of fifty points for each of the champions…" Professor Dumbledore's voice roared out. "The winner is Fleur Delacour, who showed innate command of the Bubble-Head Charm! Since she was a minute later than an hour to retrieve Miss Gabrielle, she's earned forty-nine points!"

The crowd from the Beauxbatons platform and the blue-robed students on the upper-tiers cheered riotously.

"However, since Potter would have finished first within the time limit for his clever use of Gillyweed—had it not been for his determination to rescue not only Professor Snape, but the others as well—we've agreed to award him second place with forty-five points! For  _outstanding_  moral fiber!"

Harry should've been happy, but mostly he felt sick. The headmaster had confirmed it. That git had been  _his_  hostage to rescue. Bloody good thing that he hadn't only rescued Chang like he wanted. Theodore congratulated him and patted his back. There were several boos from the Durmstrang crowd, but it was well overrun by the students from the States, the Slytherins, and his mad fans.

"Moral fiber?" Draco parroted. "For  _moral fiber_?"

"Only Harry," Theodore said proudly.

"Viktor Krum, used Advanced Transfiguration that was imperfect but nevertheless effective in retrieving Miss Granger. We award him third place with forty points!"

There was a loud amount of cheering at that from the Durmstrang platform.

"And finally, Cedric Diggory… also demonstrated excellent use of a Bubble-Head Charm. However, he was attacked by grindylows and was forced to retire before completing his task. We have awarded him twenty-five points!"

"He ought to have gotten zero, don't you think? Since Harry rescued Chang," Draco commented snidely. Harry shot him a warning look, but it wasn't noticed since Draco had obviously said it to rub Diggory's nose in his failure to complete the task.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the Fourth of June," the headmaster continued, "The champions will be notified of what to be expect precisely one month beforehand. Thank you. Now, I expect you all to return to the boats in an orderly fashion!"

"It's over until June," Harry said with relief to his friends, holding the towel tightly about him.

"You mean May," Sally-Anne corrected. "You have to prepare for the task once you know what it's about."

Harry flashed a grin at her. "Right."

After a quickly cast Warming Charm on Harry's outer robes, Theodore helped the still-shivering Harry into an awaiting boat. The Head Boy was already seated as was Draco. Harry looked about for Crabbe and Goyle, but they weren't around.

"We'll take a separate boat," Theodore said, glancing at the Slytherin first year who'd hopped in beside the three Slytherins.

"Hi ya, Harry!" His bright voice chirped.

"Oh, not  _you_. Get out," Draco ordered, but the fifth occupant, a witch, had already pointed her wand at the water. "I demand you turn back!" He yelled, but the witch merely raised an eyebrow at him as they jetted back to shore.

Dennis was smiling ear to ear and took a picture of Draco, Harry, and Wynch. "Colin's got a picture of your feet turning into flippers, and you rolling into the lake and one when you flew out the water, Harry! And the merpeople, a lot of them poked their heads up when you came out! I thought they were smiling, so I took their picture too. My dad's gonna love it!  _Real_ merpeople!"

Draco sighed dramatically. "Will we have to listen to your nattering the entire trip back?"

The answer turned out to be an emphatic yes judging by Dennis' smile. The first year turned to Harry. "It was a surprise that Professor Snape ended up being the hostage, wasn't it? Or maybe not so much since he adopted you for a couple years. Prefect Sykes told us first years about it when Shastri asked why you always went to him instead of a prefect."

The low buzz of irritation hovering around Harry flashed into anger. He sent a sharp look at Dennis.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about," the boy continued. "Delacour rescued her little sister. It makes sense that you would rescue your adoptive father."

Draco made an annoyed noise at the back of his throat. "Dunghead—"

Harry thrust a hand towards the prat to cut him off. "If you're suggesting that Professor Snape is some father figure of mine, the feeling isn't mutual. He rescinded all claims to me. And he didn't bother to thank me for scraping him from the bottom of Black Lake, did he?"

"Oh, I dunno, Harry. I think Professor Snape's fond of you." Dennis smiled cheekily at him. He leaned a bit to look past Harry. "Don't you agree, Draco?"

Harry's roommate was caught off guard. "Don't attempt to lure me into you batty theories," he said. "Everyone knows my godfather only raised him out of duty to the headmaster, nothing more."

Narrowing his eyes at Draco, the first year looked puzzled for a bit. "That's what everyone  _says_ , but you'd know better than anyone being his godson. What do  _you_  think?"

"He was furious when he came out of the water, so I very much doubt there's any fondness there." When Harry glanced at Draco, he received an indifferent look.

"Why don't you ask Professor Snape about it? See what he says, Harry!"

The boat sliding against the short pier jostled them. Harry was the first to get off the boat. "I could, but I have a feeling I'd regret it."

"Likely," Draco agreed. "All those points for  _moral fiber_? He'd give you an earful about taking your time with the Task."

Climbing out the boat steadied by Harry, Dennis patted his back. "It's amazing, isn't it? Even when everything goes wrong for you, it always turns out right." The first year clapped his hands to his face in a comical manner. "Oh! I almost forgot," he said, reaching into his robes. He pulled out a thick folder and shoved it into Harry's hands before Draco could stop him. Dennis stepped back happily. "That's a  _very_  late Christmas gift from Colin and I! Colin's owl kept returning it to him, and I wasn't able to give it to you in person since you were so busy preparing for the Tasks, detention, homework from  _two_  schools, St. Valentine's Day, and whatever else your advisor came up with." The first year looked meaningfully at an unamused Draco.

There was a flash; Colin Creevey had taken a photograph while Harry had been putting the folder away in his robes. Only Wynch's hand had stopped Draco from whipping out his wand to curse the Gryffindor who was as oblivious as his younger brother.

"Thanks," Harry said, "I'll be sure to autograph some of the pictures and send them off to the both of you."

"What's wrong with you?!  _Don't encourage them_!" Draco roared.

Creeveys were absolutely giddy with excitement as they jogged down the dock, ducking past several groups of students meandering their way to Hogwarts castle.

" _Unhand me, you filthy Mudblood!_ " Draco hissed at Wynch. The Head Boy pulled his hand away as if burnt.

Cold anger howled inside Harry's head. " _You, **apologize**_!" Someone ordered with Harry's wand pointed at Draco's pointy nose.

His rosy face had bleached out, and his grey eyes peered at him uncertainly. "I'm sorry to have offended you, your Grace," he whispered out hoarsely and then bent as if he was about to bow.

" _Not to me!_ To  **him**!" Harry's wand had flicked towards the Head Boy before returning to lightly touch Draco's nose. "And you have to  _mean_  it!"

"Wynch… I… apologize… for my rude words…" Draco sounded as if his teeth were being pulled without applied Numbing Solution.

A long-fingered hand gently grasped Harry's shoulder; he looked down at it as if it belonged to a being from Mars instead of Wynch. "It's alright, Harry. Stand down. Everyone's staring…"

The emotional disconnection kept Harry from panicking as he holstered his wand. The buzzing fury bled out very quickly then and Harry was once again feeling as if he'd been dunked in ice cold water.  _Damnable soul-shard_.

"His nerves must be twitchy and overactive from fighting off that pack of grindylows!" Draco said loudly beside Harry. "All I did was bump into him, and this idiot pulls his wand out on me!"

Harry was too fuzzy to figure out what he was up to.

"You startled him.  _Really_ , tsk, what did you expect? He  _has_  survived multiple attempts on his life," came Wynch's equally loud voice behind Harry. The Salem Institute champion looked about and saw loads of other students staring at them; the tense looks of suspicion were evaporating. The students began their conversations anew and continued their trek uphill. Wynch's hand on Harry's shoulder squeezed lightly and pulled away…

Harry's fingers rubbed his icy cold fingers briskly as they began to walk up the hill themselves, following the path along the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Thank  _Merlin_ ," Draco muttered under his breath, "I think I might have a headache coming on…"

"From apologizing?" Wynch asked casually.

"No,  _you_ —" Whatever Draco had been about to say, he interrupted himself with a snide tone, "From resisting the urge to shove Dunghead overboard."

"Your jealousy's showing, Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh, shut up," Draco growled.

Quietly following, Harry was tearing this new development apart. If Sally-Anne was right about the wounding of his pride causing the fits, then what had set him off? The fact that Wynch was his bloodsworn servant or that Draco had used the word  _Mudblood_  in his presence?

He rubbed the inside of his wrist, where light scratches from Rah-ee-ahtri remained. The Second Task went much more smoothly thanks to her. He needed to research what the trade had meant to a Selkie from the highland loch, and whether future gifts were expected in the future. But first, he had to figure out how he would get the vial from Tracey.

There were only days left before Snape's offer ran out.


	16. Squared Away

After the Second Task, the Great Hall's ceiling had been charmed to show a vista of the Black Lake. Streaks of weak sunlight shone through green, murky water slashed by clumps of lakeweed through which a myriad of familiar creatures swam. In spite of the grindylows, the Second Task had been relatively easy compared to the first; the original plan had little tweaking considering that Harry had only had to carry an extra hostage to the surface.

The raucous Hufflepuffs were also celebrating, obviously pleased that Diggory hadn't been dropped from the running. Many of them waved or smiled at Harry as they passed. He was inserted onto a bench at the Slytherin table by excited housemates. Theodore and Sally-Anne were let through to take the space on Harry's left since Draco had taken Harry's right.

"Couldn't you have been conventional for once?" Draco ribbed just like he had on their walk back to the castle.

Harry gave him his flattest look because he hadn't told him to make a wager, but he wasn't about to repeat himself.

Draco leaned closer with a curled lip in anger. "Don't look at me as if it's not your fault that I lost the rest of my spending money!"

"Fifty Galleons is  _spending money?_  I would love to be that rich!" Akimbo, a fifth year, said flippantly.

Everyone around them laughed. Crossing his arms, Draco straightened and sulked.

"You could ask the Head Boy for a loan since he's won half the pot," Mafalda proposed, and they glanced towards the self-satisfied Wynch, who appeared unfazed by all the attention. Draco's most offended scoff caused them to crack up with renewed laughter.

Obviously done eating, Daphne set her silverware down delicately. "I think it's a shame that Harry's heart is set on a man two decades his senior," she announced over them. Harry shot her a look that clearly communicated how ridiculous that was.

"Oh shove off it," Bulstrode retorted next to her. "You're obsessed with the idea that Harry's gay, you are."

"I am  _not._ "

"Oh, please," Pansy sneered, "We know you're jealous that you haven't won his favor. No need to make the rest of us suffer through ghastly, silly rumors." She snorted. "Harry? In love with Professor Snape? The thought must make you so hot and bothered!" Harry was proud that he managed to look unaffected by the sudden turn in conversation. He supposed people were bored and gullible enough to believe anything.

Daphne's face colored red, eyes narrowed with rage as laughter crashed over them again. "Well, we all know you, Miss Priss, have been cheated on multiple times, courtesy of the dog with two dicks."

As Harry winced and watched with muted interest, Pansy and Draco simultaneously rose from their spots, exploding with indignation. "How dare you—" "I am no cur, you cow!" "—never friends again with such a mean bint like you!"

"If you're so upset, why not challenge me?" Daphne asked, looking at them with a wide smirk.

With a derisive snort, Pansy stepped into the aisle and tapped Bulstrode on the shoulder. "Come on, Milly. Let's sit with Tracey." A brief flicker of panic came across Bulstrode's wide face when she looked between them, but she rose off the bench and followed Pansy to the end of the table.

"Guess not," the black-haired girl said with feigned disappointment and then called to Pansy's back, "You should learn to respect your betters, my flower!" Her green eyes flicked to the blond prat whose fists were clenched. "Yes, little dragon?"

That made Harry's hand go to his wand, worried when Draco's form thrummed with obvious violence. "I challenge you, Daphne," the red-faced blond spat out.

She stood at ease with a dimpled smile, resting her palms on the table. "Challenge accepted. I doubt you'll get very far if you have so much trouble with someone like Perks."

When Sally-Anne stiffened and turned her furious gaze past the confident Daphne, Theodore set a relaxed hand on her shoulder. "I also challenge you," she said with the steel she typically reserved for Draco when he stepped out of line. "Using Legilimency in battle won't help if your reflexes are shite."

"I accept." Daphne gracefully moved off the bench, tossing her hair over a shoulder. "Well, this is lovely. Two challenges a minute apart." She flicked her fingers dismissively towards her challengers and nodded to a silent Harry. "I hope you'll attend to witness how feeble your closest aides are." With an air of self-assurance, the young witch carried herself through the crowd and out of the Great Hall. Many younger year witches from the House of Vipers followed behind her, whispering excitedly to one another. They were brimming head-to-toe with energy and it came out in peals of giggles and a random skip to their steps. Harry was mildly puzzled.

"Those rumors were true after all," Urquhart muttered, eyeing the last of the Slytherin first year witches to leave. At Harry's frown, the fifth year continued, "She's created a secret society of Pureblood Witches whose allegiance is to her alone. No telling how many others stayed behind to report back to her later."

Volcko laughed. "Oh please, as if we older witches would join her little harem. It's obviously a show of power to entice a certain someone to her side." Her grey eyes lingered on Harry too long.

"Me?" Harry let out a laugh. "Don't be absurd."

Her friend, Fern Carrow, snorted. "Don't be so troddin' naïve. Did you think all girls go flighty in the head an' weak at the knees when they fall in love? Some conquer kingdoms." She gave him a lopsided grin.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry sighed. He had thought Draco's inexplicable infatuation was bad, but that sounded even worse. It would certainly be his luck. More laughter rolled over him.

After lunch, there was an ostentatious celebration in the common room. Someone had made emerald green arm bands with two grey G's in flamboyant cursive set above a tiny silver-eyed Lionsnake; they were being passed out by the handful and worn with excessive pride. The common room rang with congratulatory shouts from housemates who hadn't been close to Harry to do so earlier. He waved or nodded at them, seeing that the witches who had left with Daphne were streaming into the common room in groups of two or three. Daphne was the last to enter, placing her hands on her hips as she stared across the common room like a queen might at the sight of her court. She wasn't who Harry was seeking.

"She's over there," Sally-Anne said quietly, nodding to a niche close to the dormitory stairwells. Theodore as usual was stuffing his face with food. It was a miracle that no one had suspected a Lycanthrope was in their midst.

Harry finally caught sight of Tracey and hid behind others as he approached so she couldn't slip away. "Tracey," he called loudly to her. She paused mid-step and shifted on the staircase next to Pansy to turn and look at him with a suspicious look. "Mind meeting me in the library tomorrow during lunch?" He knew it was a common way a new courtship started in a place where talking and snogging were prohibited. He didn't mind encouraging that idea if only to make it clear to Daphne that he wasn't interested in her.

Despite Harry's knowing stare, Tracey's expression melted into a confident smile. "Sure."

As soon as the two turned away, Pansy immediately hissed in her ear, "Are you dating now?"

Tracey simply shook her head as they went up the stairs with Bulstrode. Sally-Anne wished Harry a goodnight as she slipped past him and up the stairs, too.

"Harry," a low voice called.

It was Daphne; Harry glanced downward and to the side so that their eyes didn't meet. "Yes?"

"Surely, you know that  _I'm_  the better match," she said harshly.

"Are you?" He said bitingly and moved to meet a waiting Theodore at the base of the boys' dormitory stairs.

Daphne didn't respond, though Harry could tell that he had touched a nerve by the way her fingers dug into her crossed arms.

At breakfast the following day, Harry received a brief missive from Hermione asking him for details about the Second Task since Krum was tight-lipped about it. She relayed what had happened after she suddenly had been summoned to Professor McGonagall's office.  _I'd had no idea what had happened between speaking to McGonagall and that moment,_  she'd written.  _Disconcerting is the kindest word I could ascribe to it. Instead of being dry and warm, I was plunged in the icy waters of Black Lake and fighting to keep my head above water. When I realized it was Viktor near me, I was never happier when he wrapped his solid arms around me and pulled me along. He's so_ strong _!_ Harry could imagine Hermione's blushing face as she wrote that as she had in the company of one Durmstrang champion.

Harry grinned. Hermione's crush on Krum was obvious to anyone who saw her. The two regularly spent time with one another during lunch. It was rather sweet. When the school year finished, would the two still be close when Krum returned to Bulgaria?

 _Well, that didn't matter much, did it_? Harry thought. He would send all sorts of details and even make a copy of the map of the merfolk's hamlet—with additions and corrections to show how much it had expanded from the time the map was last updated. He knew she loved that sort of thing, but before he could do that he had to focus on how he would deliver the vial to Professor Snape without getting caught.

Throughout Herbology a relatively calm Harry thought of a half dozen plans to extract the vial from Tracey's possession; most required him to outwit or trick her. That would never work, considering how devious she could be without any indication. He wouldn't have a chance to talk to her during classes because she steadfastly moved away whenever he drew near her.

Because of the Second Task, the Ravenclaws were more respectful due to Harry's clever use of a specialty herb that none of them had known of before. Harry had given credit to Neville's extensive knowledge of magical flora, and many of them looked surprised. The Gryffindor's passion for Herbology was known, but his reputation of ineptitude with most subjects preceded it. Harry hoped Neville benefited from it and gained ever more friends.

After class, Harry and his friends grabbed a few rolls from the Great Hall for lunch. He led Theodore and Sally-Anne to the library. Once they picked out a table, his friends as usual had their heads close as Theodore caught up with his assignments. After discovering where the books on Selkies were, Harry walked through the library until he found a familiar golden brunette sitting at a writing desk, which was pressed against the stacks.

Unobtrusively, he browsed the books on the shelf beside her and then dropped a folded bit of parchment next to her elbow. With a cursory look at him, she unfolded the note and read. Then she dabbed her quill in ink and wrote a response. He swiped it off the table opening it as he walked down an adjacent row.

There in his handwriting was,  _How did you intend to deliver the complement?_  And below was Tracey's boxy, slanted letters which spelled out,  _Never was my intention._

He refolded the note, pacing up and down different stacks as he thought of the course of action he would take. He'd made a mistake, entrusting her with potions that had been intended for self-defense.

**_You gave her a pathway to revenge_ ** **.**

_Shove off,_  Harry thought, doing the usual to protect himself. He hadn't gone back to the Dursleys to seriously maim them, had he? If he wouldn't have done it, he doubted others would be so quick.

Panic seeped into his brain since he had only until the weekend to turn the vial in to Snape. He had to get it back. Before the panic carried on too long, he centered and let it run away without him. Once more clear-headed, Harry was relieved that he had added more precautions on the second vial than just Charming it Unbreakable. Decision made, he marched towards Tracey and came to a sudden stop, the resultant air fluttering the parchment on her desk. Her eyes were wide, fear flickering in their depths.

"Give me the vial," he said, leaning over her in a deliberately intimidating manner.

Shoving the fear back, she looked up defiantly. "I threw it away."

"Really?" Harry said tempering his expression to one of deep skepticism. "You'd lose an opportunity to lord power over him if you did that." When a flicker of annoyance crossed her features, Harry didn't suppress his smirk. She had likely tried and failed to rid herself of the vial.

"You didn't only charm it to be Unbreakable, did you," Tracey ground out.

"I may have tweaked that spell a bit so it couldn't be removed easily, and I put a jinx on it so that it would always find its way back to you in case it was lost or misplaced before it could be used."

Her expression grew stormier at that admission and her lips thinned. She turned back to the parchment in front of her.

Harry said softly, "And, I laid numerous protection spells on it. The cork won't come undone without being in the presence of the afflicted. The formula's toxic to anyone else; I didn't want you to accidentally poison yourself if an errant curse hit it."

"You've thought of everything, haven't you?" she said at her book. Her shoulders were tense.

"No. It never occurred to me that you would use them outside of self-defense," Harry admitted.

"He deserved it."

"If you don't hand it over, I will go to Professor Snape with  _this_ ," Harry held the bit of parchment with their brief exchange on it. "He'll enjoy the full story of how a volatile potion came to be in his student's cauldron."

"You'd risk Azkaban for that scum?" Tracey leaned back, running fingers through the ends of her hair. Her grey eyes sparked with disbelief. "You must be bluffing," she murmured.

"Try me," he said coolly.

The longer Tracey looked at him the longer she seemed convinced that he would. She rustled a hand in her robes, digging into a pocket. "Here," she said with a clipped manner and deposited the innocuous black vial on the desk. "Do whatever you want."

Inordinately gladdened that she handed it over willingly, Harry scooped it up and whispered, "Thank you."

" _Don't_ ," Tracey hissed, glaring at him. "I don't deserve your thanks. I had hoped with every fiber of my being that there would be nothing left of him or his friends afterward." Shoulders hunched, she stared down at the book in front of her. "Pity that his friends escaped harm. Now they're sniffing around trying to catch the perpetrator… They'll strike down anyone they suspect, mark my words."

Harry gripped the vial tightly in his palm, recognizing the tangle of plays she made around him. He cast a short-range Silence Ward, before turning back to her. "You should turn yourself in before that happens."

She looked at Harry, her face drawn. "Don't be so  _bloody_  oblivious," she hissed.

A smile pulled on Harry's lips and he lowered his mouth close to her. Her eyes flicked down at his lips and back at him with a confused air. "Tracey," he whispered, "Tell me, did you always intend to poison him after the honor fight?" After she had seduced him, no doubt. Not that that mattered much when the seduction plan fell apart so plainly. "What a windfall those potions had been to land in your hands, and a stupid, trusting lump had placed them there."

When he pulled back, the young witch rose sharply from her chair, a hand near to her side where her wand laid. Her expression was one of distress. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Thoughts and emotions poured through him, but he was left untouched. He wasn't smiling any longer. "Why do you pretend to care now that you've made me your fall man? Never once did you stop and think about the consequences. The truth is that I was a means to your vengeful end; you didn't give a shite about me at all."

When Tracey opened her mouth, likely with rehearsed platitudes, Harry swiped a hand to silence them. With his mind calm, he saw everything quite clearly, how long she must have schemed. "You've been afraid for your well-being for months, the well-being of your friends and housemates. What was the turning point? Hearing that he was transferring to Durmstrang?"

Swallowing with eyes downcast, Tracey held her hands in front of her instead of by her wand. She nodded tightly, but no words spilled from her lips.

"If you think he would escape punishment as easily in their country as he had done here, then you are wrong. What power does he have there? Political leverage? He would be a foreigner with very little of either since I doubt his father would have diplomatic immunity. As for the protection of foreign witches, the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons witches likely have been warned by others about his poisonous charm." He looked at her semi-kindly. "I don't disagree that he deserves Azkaban, but it's not solely your decision. The Wizengamot has already decided."

Her knuckles were white as her hands tightly clasped the other. "I'm sorry," she whispered out hoarsely, cheeks dry and colorless. "I don't feel guilty at all. I'd do it again even. If you were expecting me to repent, it's never going to happen."

Harry met her gaze, reaching a hand forward. She flinched, so he dropped that hand. "Look at me, Tracey." Her grey eyes met his unsteadily, her face pinched with terror. "Fear has a way of clouding judgment," Harry said reasonably, remembering his lessons in Occlumency. He held up the black, opaque vial. "I forgive you, but I'll never forget this breach of trust."

She swallowed thickly, staring at the vial. When her mouth worked to say something and failed, Harry turned away, canceling the spell that silenced their words to eavesdroppers. He walked into an adjacent aisle, removed the numerous spells from the vial with a long string of murmurs—wouldn't do to let it inadvertently return to Tracey—and then shoved it into his pouch. It clinked against the unused vessel of Gillyweed. Moving along the stacks, Harry quickly scoured through the books on Selkies and pulled off the two that looked the most promising.

He returned to his friends' table as if he had spent awhile searching the stacks for them. Sally-Anne and Theodore at least had the courtesy to pull away from each other when he brought his presence to their attention. Sally-Anne cleared her throat and pulled a clump of her hair that had gotten stuck to her lips. "Did you acquire what you needed?"

Harry lifted the books, both rather thick:  _Selkies of the Highland Lochs & Merrows of the Irish Jetties _and  _The Societal Eccentricities of Merfolk: From the Murmurs of the Bermuda Triangle to the Sirens of the Greek Isles._

"What's that on your wrist?" She asked.

The champion looked at his left wrist.

"No, the right one. On the inside."A crease formed between her eyebrows as if thinking took a lot of effort while Theodore was lazily tracing his index finger on top of Sally-Anne's hand.

Pulling his robe sleeve back after setting the books down, Harry saw a strangely shaped bruise, turning slightly green from purple. Three curved lines started at a jagged point, and as his eyes traveled down the thin, inch-long lines, they formed into one below the center. It was no longer than three inches long. "Must've gotten it when Rah-ee-ahtri wouldn't let go." He brushed his hand over it, noticing how dry the skin felt.

Theodore waggled his eyebrows at Sally-Anne as he dipped close for a kiss, but she huffed and pushed his face lightly away.

"You know how Madam Pince gets with snoggers," Sally-Anne smirked when Theodore suddenly decided to pack.

"Don't leave without me. I have to borrow these," Harry said, dropping his hand from his wrist. He slung the rucksack over his shoulder and collected the books. Before he headed to the queue of students before Madam Pince's desk, he heard Theodore say to Sally-Anne, "I'm hurrying because Potions is about to start, you pervert." The resulting laugh from her earned them both a loud shush.

Once the library books were safely tucked away, they entered the corridor and headed to the nearest stairwell to descend to the dungeons. Harry aborted a sigh when he realized that his friends had forgotten about Yaxley's condition and Snape's stipulation. He hadn't a plan yet to turn the vial in. The champion wasn't stupid enough to barge in and drop the vial on Snape's desk with Slytherin's portrait on watch. It was one thing to be suspected, but quite another to hand over solid proof directly. This was a lesson Harry had learned at the end of his second year: don't incriminate yourself or else face consequences most severe.

It would have simplified things immensely if their bloody Head of House had a comments box. The potion could have been dropped into it anonymously with a note penned using a Dictus quill, and Harry could have wiped his hands clean of the matter entirely. Now, he would have to get it to the right hands without incrimination. Simply handing it to the Head Boy wouldn't do. If Snape asked questions and Wynch protected Harry, the professor would either confront Harry—which he'd done plenty of times—or go straight to the headmaster. Harry wouldn't be likely to wiggle out of trouble if that occurred.

 ** _Plant it on someone you hate and watch how they dance_** **,**  came the whisper before it was shut out.

It wasn't until Harry was gathering his materials from his Potions cupboard that a brilliant idea came to him: Dobby. Dobby could deliver it without Snape being any wiser! Harry decided that he would quickly complete his assignment and do just that.

They were to make a Wit-Sharpening Potion today. Pansy and Bulstrode giggled over something in Pansy's hands. Harry found it very annoying when they kept looking at him. Whatever it was must be about him. Daphne had paired herself with Tracey today. Both had a serious expression on their countenances and would glance towards him when they didn't think he was looking.

"Theo, what're they raising a fuss over?" He asked, not really caring but feeling he ought to know, as he pulled out the box of scarab beetles, large jar of armadillo bile, and a hunk of ginger root from his pack of potions ingredients.

"Dunno," his friend replied, sitting down beside Sally-Anne. "Looks like the  _Witch Weekly_. It's a gossip rag."

"You remember that Lockhart won the Most-Charming-Smile award from it five times in a row?" Sally-Anne prompted.

Harry stifled the irritation. "Oh.  _That_."

Draco slapped a magazine down in front of Harry's potions ingredients. The prat didn't look pleased. "Another Rita Skeeter article about you… It's another pity party of your alleged tragic love life. Though I'd say it's mostly a jab at Granger's fickle ways. I can easily imagine the piles of post with nasty remarks or curses swarming her during the coming weeks. That is, if the headmaster hasn't spelled a Friends-Only Post charm on her like he's done on you."

Harry frowned. "Friends-Only—?"

"It's quite complex and touchy, requiring finesse and regular tweaking," Draco answered without bothering to hear the rest of his question.

The Slytherin champion understood why he needed such a charm, but why would Hermione need it?

One look at his face, and Draco made a sigh. "Dumby-door no doubt wanted you to live away from the Harry Potter mania after the Dark Lord's first death, but it's detrimental to one's health not to understand the dangers of unsolicited—"

"You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!" Pansy's voice sliced through what he was about to say. She was taunting the Gryffindor, who walked in with a blasé look on her face. Either she was bluffing nonchalance or she really didn't care about gossip or the possibility of dangerous letters. Not wanting Hermione to see that he had it, Harry knocked the magazine towards Draco. "I don't care what it says. I'm busy," Harry muttered. Draco silently collected it and put it back into his bag, going to the Potions cupboard to collect ingredients.

"Leave her alone, Pansy," Tracey rebuked sharply from the Potions cupboard. "Daphne's not the only one jealous."

"What did you say?" The brunette demanded, scowling when her dark blue eyes swept across them and noted that Tracey sat with Daphne, who seemed completely fine with the comparison.

"You're jealous that Granger's won more affection from Harry than any of us combined!" The grey-eyed witch laughed. "How pathetic that you've finally noticed a rival that's been there since our first year."

"Everyone knows he dumped you at the ball for a plain  _Muggle-born_! Any self-respecting witch wouldn't stand for that!" Pansy sniped back.

"We went as friends!" Tracey snapped. "How many times do I have to repeat that before it enters your thick head?" She shook her head. "Why do I bother? You don't even believe a wizard can be honorable enough to keep their word. He promised we'd go as friends and kept it. I was the one who pushed him to break it."

"After your experience," Daphne interrupted clearly,"I can hardly blame you for testing a man's resolve when most act like slavering beasts." She looked pointedly towards Draco, who didn't bother to respond to her.

Whatever Pansy had to say died on her lips when Professor Snape swooped into the room. Taken aback by Tracey's defense, a silent Hermione sank into her chair beside Ron, who looked really miffed by the entire conversation. Harry's face had gone red by the end of the very public conversation since the Gryffindors kept looking towards him. He covered his embarrassment by taking up his cauldron, stand, and stirring rod from the cupboard and arranging them very neatly on his desk.

The hook-nosed professor began to write the ingredients and the quantities needed in neatly capitalized words under the potion's name which was already written with page numbers with very large numbers on the board. For the first time, Harry wondered why Snape did that when he always used his time and energy as efficiently as possible, until Harry remembered that Crabbe often got his letters mixed up. It was, after all, why Crabbe had so liked the Enchanted Object he'd gotten for Christmas. Crabbe used it during Study Period and outside of class, but not in Potions. Maybe he was self-conscious at the thought of using it where the Gryffindors could see?

While their professor wrote on the blackboard, Ron and Hermione were loudly whispering to one another about the  _Witch Weekly_ article. Harry tuned them out as he crushed a bowl of fifteen beetles with his ceramic pestle. They had to be grounded to the fineness of coal powder, the potions text had said.

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," an icy voice cut behind Harry on his right. "I must ask you not to discuss it in class. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry continued grinding the beetles, checking it every so often for the correct consistency and fineness. He hardly noticed that the class had stopped working around him.

"Ah… reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added—not yet done tormenting the hapless Gryffindors—and snatched up the copy of  _Witch Weekly_  from Hermione. "A further ten points from Gryffindor… Oh but of course…" Snape paused for dramatic effect. "You must be hiding it from Potter… Surely you wouldn't want him to know of your philandering behavior with Mr. Krum… Seeing as how Potter would be  _crushed_ if he knew."

"What? I would  _not_ ," Harry retorted, frowning at the professor. Harry had a feeling that, like Hermione, Snape had come to an ill-mannered awareness in the Black Lake, freezing and soaked to the bone next to an equally befuddled fifth year. The difference being that the bastard had come awake furious when he discovered how Harry secretly treasured his mentoring both as a father and Potions Master. He must have needed the distance to prevent himself from blasting the Salem Institute champion into tiny particles. "And you'd have to be  _blind_  not to see Krum and Hermione frequently leave their tables to meet in the Entrance Hall during lunch. My vision's bad but it's not that bad." Uneasiness strummed through the Slytherins around Harry, and the Gryffindors were looking at one another worriedly.

An unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth, and Harry dreaded what was to come. The adult lifted the magazine and gestured a hand over it. "Harry Potter's Secret Heartache, page 113 _…_  dear, dear, Potter, now your heart's ailing you?" He didn't fumble as his long, stained fingers opened the magazine. " _'_ A boy like no other, perhaps—yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence _',"_  Snape read aloud raising a disdainful eyebrow, but nobody laughed. The room was deathly silent save for the preparation of ingredients. "'Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, twelve-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his second steady girlfriend at Hogwarts—Muggle-born, Hermione Granger' _—_  Granger doesn't have a romantic bone in her body, _"_ Snape drawled. Hermione was twisting her hands together with a furious look on her face and Ron's face was scarlet as their professor continued the slow torturous recitation of the article, "'His latest squeeze, Tracey Davis'—"

"Sir, are you seriously going to waste your time reading that rubbish to us?" Harry managed very evenly between clenched teeth.

"—'was merely a rebound from his recent heartbreak with Miss Granger. Little did he know that Miss Granger would lay yet another emotional blow in a life littered with personal loss and abandonment. Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy _._ '" Professor Snape's eyes glittered, "Or perhaps,  _Potter_ , you are simply incapable of pleasing your dates."

There was the sound of heavy ceramic slamming onto the counter. Harry's eyes drew to Tracey.

"Care to provide testimony to that, Miss Davis?" Snape's hard stare made her look away and fumble with the ginger root on her desk. Daphne pried it from her palms and began to slice it for their potion.

"No, sir," Tracey said softly, her eyes trained on the table before her.

Even though Harry had reduced the black beetles to the correct fineness, imagining that they were Snape's beetle-colored eyes as he vigorously pounded the pestle against the mortar was extremely satisfying. How could that greasy-haired bastard have been the one to end up at the bottom of Black Lake? He was bitter, immature, and vicious.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," the professor drawled to Harry.

"If I wanted to, I'd have a date," Harry bit out. "You should worry about yourself."

"And why is that?" Each extended vowel and clipped consonant dripped with venom.

Harry turned in his chair and gave the adult a cool look-over. "Take a look at the mirror, professor. Greasy hair? Hawkish nose? Sallow skin?" Harry added no nasty smiles to his dramatic pause, but pity was quite evident. "I can see why you would waste your time tormenting an orphan for kicks. No parents to send you howlers."

 _Who would ever want you?_ was better left unspoken.

The class held their collective breath. The various sounds of potions components being made ready silenced.

Snape plunged a hand into his black robes.

Harry had his wand out before the Potions Master realized it was there. The rest of the class gasped; likely because Professor Snape was the scariest teacher in the entire school… or was it because he was a Death Eater? Harry wasn't really sure but he didn't lower his wand. "Might I suggest you remove your hand very slowly, sir?"

"You are a blithering  _idiot_ , Potter," Snape said, enunciating each word. Regardless, he slowly withdrew his hand and revealed a dark bottle, pinched in the middle.

Feeling foolish, Harry holstered his wand and turned back to his table to finish preparing the ginger root.

"Do you even know what this is?"

Harry dropped his hands back to the table, leaving his hands free of any potential weapons. He centered so that the anger didn't overtake him. His scar stung from his efforts. If he finished the potion, Harry could get out of this suffocating classroom and deliver the formula's complement. Against his will, several ideas came to mind considering the shape and darkness of the vial, but he chose not to air them. "Bubble juice, sir?"

"It is Veritaserum," Snape sneered irately. "Three drops of this and even the Dark Lord himself would spill his innermost secrets."

That caught Harry's attention. He looked up at the harmless-looking bottle. Veritaserum was extremely Restricted. The Potions Master must have brewed it himself.

"The use of it on a student is…  _regrettably_ , forbidden," the Potions professor said plainly. "However, should you  _ever_ decide to steal from my stores again…" The Potions Master tilted the bottle rather deliberately, "My hand. Might. Just. Slip. Over your meal-time juice."

Snape prowled towards Harry, his merciless eyes boring into his with the pricking of nonverbal Legilimency. Using Occlumency, Harry sidestepped the mental jab by diverting his attention to something else completely benign.

 _Steal? Steal what?_ Harry chose to say nothing at all, knowing the adult wasn't yet finished. There was grumbling and muttering on Harry's behalf from Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy, respectively, though the former was shushed by Hermione.

"Potter, you may be laboring under the delusion that the entire Wizarding World is impressed with your  _inspiring_  performance in the Black Lake," Snape derided so every ear could hear him, "but to me, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules beneath him _._ "

Harry took a deep breath, turning away from the dour professor. The entire class was mesmerized by the drama unfolding. "What am I supposed to have stolen?"

"A rather  _rare_  herb, Gillyweed," he continued in that irritating way of his as he shoved the bottle back into his robes, and Theodore made a small noise of 'ah-ha!'.

"Yes, I had Rah-ee-ahtri, a Selkie, harvest some fresh for me. It's not against the rules."

The Potions professor snarled, "And what of the batch that was stolen from my private store?"

"I received it for Christmas, sir," Harry said truthfully, avoiding eye contact, "Ask any one of my year-mates.  _I didn't steal it_."

A long moment passed with Snape glaring down at him and then there was the sound of a stool being shoved out. "I-I gave it to him, professor," Neville said, standing tall in Harry's defense.

The Slytherin champion couldn't help the exasperated, "Neville!", from slipping, and he was given a confused, hurt look for it. If the bloody Gryffindor had kept his mouth shut, then Snape would have no idea.

Black robes unfurled dramatically as Snape descended on the Gryffindor. " _You_  stole it?"

His brother's face had paled considerably. "N-no, sir. I asked Dobby to get me some. I-I didn't know that it belonged to y-you."

Harry dug through his pouch and pulled out the vessel he'd received for Christmas, hurrying to his brother's side. "Take it."

The wide-eyed Gryffindor allowed the vessel to be shoved into his hands. "But Harry, it was a gift," he whimpered out. Harry pushed Neville's occupied hands towards a sneering Snape.

"Detention, Longbottom!"

Neville let out a moan of pain as if hearing that was equivalent to being told he'd be birched.

When Snape turned towards his desk, Harry quipped, "Seven sharp, it is, professor. Since it was, after all, _my_ house-elf who stole the component."

The vessel of Gillyweed was raised for all to see. "Gillyweed may be innocuous,  _Potter,_ but a scoop of Tatting Bloodworms? Several dried legs of a Dartmouth Dart-frog? Spleen of a Scamander and six eyes of a Starfish Spider?  _Someone_  in this school brewed that illegal formula. The very same which was placed in Yaxley's cauldron paste. Once I find out  _who_  that is," and here, Snape looked at Harry since he knew exactly  _who_  was responsible for Yaxley's condition, "they are going to spend a very long time in Azkaban!"

Deciding he had pushed his luck enough, Harry turned to his ginger roots. He picked up his knife to thinly slice them. Vaguely, he heard Snape's voice cut into Neville as he did every time the Gryffindor was in his class. At least there were no more melted cauldrons to deal with.

Hermione and Ron were making sympathetic sounds, while Theodore and Sally-Anne were shooting worried looks at him. Harry's skin was crawling so he knew the entire class must be glancing at him furtively. He didn't give them any attention.

Professor Snape's little show—for he never wasted energy mercilessly bullying Harry without reason—gave the impression that he would exact vengeance on whoever had horribly mutilated a fellow Death Eater's child. Only why would he need to? When it finally came to him, Harry felt oddly relieved. To keep up appearances. It had always been about appearances. The fury at being a hostage could have easily been for the public.

Harry looked around. Everyone seemed to be working… When his eyes fell on Draco, the other Slytherin turned and met his eyes. He looked unhappy and irritated, going so far as to glare towards his godfather's back whenever it was turned towards them.

There was a small indent on the cutting board where Harry had dug the knife in after he'd finished slicing the ginger roots. Lifting the slab of wood, he tipped the neatly cut ginger into his cauldron. He would have to put the cutting board in the bin so it could be repaired away from the volatile potions.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

"Enter," Snape said crossly.

Harry didn't look to see who came in as he measured out the armadillo bile and poured it into his cauldron. He tapped the steel ring to start a low heat and began to stir seventeen times clockwise.

"We need to talk," Karkaroff said abruptly, though it was very quiet. Harry only heard him because he was in the perfect spot to hear the adults in the auditorium-like classroom.

"After my lesson," Snape muttered.

"We need to talk  _now_ , Severus."

"Get out."

Karkaroff reluctantly left the classroom, though Harry had a feeling he was waiting right outside the door.

Harry finished brewing the potion to specifications and bottled it up. He cleaned his workspace, packed up his things, and passed Karkaroff in the corridor without looking at the gaunt man. The Durmstrang High Master had lost considerable weight since he had arrived last year. Snape might have told him about Voldemort's resurrection plan. Sluicing anger arose at the professor's most recent behavior to shame him in class.

 _Shite_ , Harry chanted in his head, blotting out the mental giggling of the ever-present soul-shard. Bleeding the anger off took time, so he wandered aimlessly through the dungeons to the deeper parts which hadn't been used in centuries. Once his head had cooled, he leaned against the damp, darkened wall of the corridor trying to get his bearings. Well, now that he was truly lost, it was better now than never. He shoved a hand into his pouch and pulled out the vial. "Dobby!"

There was a crack and the little house-elf appeared, bowing lowly enough to scrape his nose against the dingy stone beneath them. "What can Dobby do for Master Harry?"

"For one: Don't bow. For another: Stop calling me 'Master'."

Dobby immediately straightened. He wore a cap with a used quill stuck in it, a ratty scarf, and an 'I love Harry Potter' t-shirt that hung to his knobby knees. He still had on the socks Harry had given him for Christmas, and they looked pristine. "Sorry, sir. It has been months since you called me. What is you needing?"

"This vial needs to be placed on Snape's office desk in the Slytherin House. Do not be caught with it and swear not to say a word about where you got it if you do get caught. There's a portrait in Snape's office that you have to avoid being seen by too."

"Dobby swears that Harry Potter's secrets are safe and that Dobby will not be seen or heard in this task." The house-elf held up the vial, inspecting it.

Harry heaved a relieved exhale. "Thank you. Someone was seriously injured because of what I created. This will fix that error."

"Dobby lives to serve Harry Potter." The house-elf canceled a move into a half-bow with a lopsided smile, snapped his fingers, and disappeared.

Harry rubbed his face, tired and hungry. He hoped he wasn't missing dinner. Frustrated that he didn't think to ask the house-elf where he was, he looked about again. He pulled out his wand and whispered 'point me'. North was to his left. He turned sharply on his heel and headed west. He would find the Great Hall after he walked into a more familiar area.

The sound of murmuring caught his attention, and Harry automatically silenced his already mouse-quiet steps to sneak a look around a corner. Someone in a thick black cloak was deactivating wards of the Runic variety on a nondescript door. Whoever it was opened the door and inside was a closet full of objects which—and then a flash overtook Harry and he woke in the infirmary to peculiarly familiar sounds.

 _Clunk._ Thump.  _Clunk._ Thump.  _Clunk._

Professor Moody—well, the real Moody, since this man hadn't actually used the Imperius Curse on Harry or taught all those Dark spells to his class—peered down at Harry. "Awake, eh?" He said gruffly, both eyes fixed on Harry.

"Hello…?" Harry tilted his head to the side, reaching for his glasses. As soon as he put them on, he saw Ms. Oke standing by the bed, a red glow of either sunrise or sunset rimmed around her black hair. "What happened?"

"Your buddies found you unconscious near the entrance of your House after you didn't show for dinner," she answered, tapping her black-lacquered nails against her leg. "It's nearly time for breakfast now."

Drat, that meant it was Saturday morning. Harry had missed his weekly jog with Neville.

"Don't remember anything, do you?" The ex-Auror scowled harshly in what might have been a smile. "You must've caught someone and they Obliviated you for your trouble."

"Someone's storing something behind heavy wards, near... Well, in a closet, somewhere in the dungeons," Harry said, feeling surprisingly well for having lost a portion of his memory.

"What sorts of things?" Moody asked harshly. When Harry didn't immediately answer, the ex-Auror barked out, "Speak up, we don't have all day!"

"Objects. Odd ones, like you'd see on display. I…" Harry found he didn't know any more than that. "I don't remember anything else."

"Nosing into trouble without back-up will make you dead," he groused out tersely. "You're lucky you're not, with the mole about."

Ms. Oke nodded in agreement.

Harry looked at the scarred man. "Was it the dustbins sir?"

"What?" The wizard snapped impatiently. Harry had no difficulty discerning the differences between him and the impostor. The mannerisms were the same, the way that Moody would lean on his staff when he frowned in that way, but this one seemed gruffer.

"Were you attacked that night with the Bewitched dustbins…? Is that how you were replaced?"

Moody blinked his normal eye in surprise, and the Magical eye whizzed around. "Yes. Lured me in and then dropped me into a trunk after taking a chunk of my hair. Thought it was fishy, did you?"

"It was… odd," Harry agreed."An ex-Auror raising the alarm over a prank?"

The grizzled adult thumped his staff down. "You have good instinct. Don't ever ignore it, not for one second." Moody turned, lifted his heavy metal foot, and dropped it in a half-step, repeating it to cross the expanse of the infirmary.

"I won't," Harry promised, though Moody didn't seem to hear him. The ex-Auror thumped and clunked his way out of the room, grumbling about spies and thrice-damned Polyjuice Potion.

"You really okay?" Ms. Oke asked.

"If the only thing I lost was a bit of time, then yeah." He looked up at her. "I suppose you won't be teaching DADA class any longer?"

"Got it in one," she said with her hands on her hips. "But I'll do extra tutoring if you need it. We can keep working on that summoning spell you want done nonverbally on Friday nights." Madam Pomfrey came into the wing and went to her cupboard of healing potions, arranging the neat little rows. The infirmary was empty save for them.

Harry shifted to set his bare feet on the cold floor. He was still in his robes and clothes from the day before. For some mysterious reason when he mentally catalogued where his things were everything was account for other than his socks. His holstered wand and pouch were sitting on the bedside table and his boots were set against the wall beneath the window. "Ms. Oke, why has the coursework from the institute gone down? Not that I'm complaining. It's nice to have a break, but it seems strange."

"What can I do? You're all caught up. Severus said you were an insatiable monster when it comes to that sort of thing. I really thought he was exaggerating until you completed all of that in less than four months. Next packet's not due to show until early May." The adult pulled a chair closer and sat it in. "My students keep asking to hang out with you. Think you could throw them a bone?"

"Couldn't they come during meal times?"

The principal laughed, waving her hands side to side as if that were impossible. "You know, Professor Dumbledore asked me whether my students would fit better with the Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs."

"Neither?"

"I'd put them with Gryffindor, except that our school's champion is a Slytherin." She winked. "You can see where there might be friction. Both are fiercely proud groups."

"You should let them," Harry said. "Sit there, I mean. Professor McGonagall would have their ears if they didn't treat guests well. Only the Weasley twins would dare to misbehave, and they seem to like you enough to give your students a chance. I haven't figured out why they're so smitten with me."

Her eyebrows rose at his admission. "You're practically a saint to everyone, brilliant at potions, and crazy intelligent. Who wouldn't like you?"

"Seamus Finnigan, though he doesn't bother me anymore. And the Down With Potter group," Harry answered flatly, "Haven't met many of them, but I've heard they loathe me."

A flicker of a frown crossed her features before it was wiped away with a broad, casual grin. "Well! I wouldn't worry too much about them. The nurse said you were free to go once I saw that you hadn't gone crazy or stupid." The principal waggled her eyebrows. "I'd get going before she changes her mind and makes you stay longer. She's a bit of a hardass if you know what I mean."

Strapping on his wand holster and pouch, Harry toed into his boots. The absence of his socks was very curious. He'd grab another pair after he ate his fill of breakfast.

"Oh, and Potter? Be careful. I'd hate to lose you," Ms. Oke warned; her clear green eyes which were normally so vibrant had gone abruptly cold.

Harry shivered at the look and nodded.

It was that very morning after he pulled on a new pair of socks and reunited with his friends and told them what had happened that Harry finally received a letter from the headmaster. The Notice-Me-Not Spell was as powerful as the last since he was able to leave the table without being followed. He eagerly opened it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I apologize for the late reply. At the time, Severus had alerted me to what you've experienced, though he neglected to tell me immediately of the cessation of his tutelage. I am aware of your many concerns. However, Hogwarts is the best place for you until your magical education is completed. Lord Slytherin and I believe that if you lose the support of the people who love you, your condition will worsen at an unprecedented rate. Nevertheless, your fears are not unfounded. Lord Voldemort will use any means at his disposal to collect the necessary ingredients for his resurrection ritual. You must stay out of his hands now that he is aware of his connection to you._

_For this reason, I regret to inform you that the mole is still-at-large. Bartiemus Crouch's house-elf had been arrested instead of the real mole, who was presumed to be dead until Barty testified to a full Wizengamot court this past week. Barty and his wife had helped their son escape Azkaban many years ago. Barty's son had been held in home confinement until last May when he broke free. Excavation of the son's grave revealed the truth of Mr. Crouch's testimony. The Phrenologists say that the remains belong to a woman, no doubt Barty's wife though the examination is not yet complete._

_This Death Eater could only be arrested because of an anonymous tip-off about faint screaming from the trunk which held the real Alastor Moody. Whether the impostor planned to set us on the wrong path or a student had stumbled upon this secret and feared for their safety is uncertain. What is certain is that Barty Crouch, Jr. is a highly talented wizard devoted to Lord Voldemort's cause and will stop at nothing to deliver you to his master._

_I do not know for certain whether Barty Crouch, Jr. is within Hogwarts castle, but I daresay chances are high that he is. He may have chosen to impersonate another staff member. At this time, anyone of any age is suspect. I strongly recommend that you avoid being alone with someone you know, beyond myself and Severus. It will take time again to determine who the impostor is not. In the meantime, I have ordered Severus to thoroughly check his storeroom inventory on a more frequent basis. It seems that Mr. Draco Malfoy had not continued to brew copious amounts of Polyjuice Potion as had been alleged._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster of Hogwarts_

Refolding the letter and putting it away, Harry let out a frustrated sigh. What was he supposed to do once the sleeping draughts quit working? As for the mole, Harry's thoughts turned to his friends. None of them seemed any different, but he couldn't rely on a hunch without proof. He returned to his spot at the table. "Theo, what did I tell you our first year—when the clock was screaming that I had detention—when you said that a bad reputation follows you to your grave?"

His friends gave him a mildly curious look. Theodore answered, "You said you were the Boy-Who-Lived, famous over nothing you did. And then you told me to hell with conventional wisdom. Seize the day!"

"Close enough," Harry chuckled and then turned to the diminutive, glasses-wearing witch. "Sally-Anne, in our first year why did I give you a favor?"

"To stay quiet about how you fraternized with Hermione Granger in the library," she said, pushing the bridge of her glasses up.

Fidgeting, Theodore blurted out, "What's with the sudden questions, Harry?"

"Had to be sure you two weren't impostors."

They looked at him blankly for a moment, and then Sally-Anne's face blanched. "You mean to say that the Ministry didn't catch them? That the mole slipped away?"

Harry nodded and lowered his voice. "Winky was arrested instead."

"Cripe. Just what we needed," Theodore said angrily. "I guess you caught the mole doing something sneaky. That's why he had you Obliviated."

"I don't know," Harry said softly. "But I've got to test Wynch next. If he passes, I'll tell him that the rest of the house needs to be checked."

"That should be easy. Polyjuiced individuals can't mimic the bonds of a bloodsworn servant," Sally-Anne said. "You'll know if it's him or not."

Harry cracked a smile at them. "Thanks."

As they entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned their hands and faces every time they went out onto the grounds. Harry thought it was colder than February had been. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. He only knew because Draco complained about it so much. Harry still had yet to receive post from the one person he desperately wanted to hear from, though he had continued writing letters to his godfather every night. He, of course, had to use school owls since Hedwig was gone for three days at a time and he didn't want to exhaust her by sending her out on the very day she returned.

Hermione had been delighted in her responding letter over Harry's vibrant details and thanked him for the quick reply. She had admitted that Krum wasn't an exceptionally grand conversationalist. _Perhaps he didn't want to go into details because a shark's senses aren't very keen? Oh, I would have liked to try Gillyweed! That sounds so fascinating. I'll ask Neville if I could borrow his book. Maybe I should learn some Mermish too? The way you describe the Black Lake Selkies makes them seem quite friendly._

Harry had grinned as she rambled on about how awful it was that both selkies and centaurs had opted out of the Being classification of the Ministry, and how easily the little rights that they had could be superseded by a simple order of the Minister of Magic. Hand it to Hermione to root out injustice even during international tournaments.

As promised, Harry had sent an autographed photo to each of the Creeveys. One photo had tiny Dennis hanging from Harry's arm like a chimpanzee, while Colin stood proudly on the other side of Harry. The other had Dennis posing smugly next to Harry with an impish grin while Colin hugged onto Harry's side like a long-lost brother. In both, Harry's smiling, animated image didn't attempt to pull his arms away or shove the Creevey brothers from him. His photograph looked unfazed as if the Creevey brothers were acting utterly normal. Harry had chosen these two photos in particular because when he snickered at himself, his likeness would glare murderously at him and pat whoever was clinging to him protectively. Harry rather liked to see that caught on camera.

The moving photographs of the pivotal moments as each Quadwizard Champion battled their own dragons had been included in Creevey's folder of photographs. The solitary photo of Harry during the First Task showed the phenomenal speed of his likeness running out of the Horntail's enclosure when caught in ferociously hot grey-blue and white flames. His robes were singed and smoking from the dragon-fire and he had a delighted and victorious smirk when he held the golden egg up like a banner towards the crowd. It was incredible that the time had been short enough for the photograph to have caught the moment in its entirety.

Harry had no difficulty at all imagining that Colin Creevey would be working as a star photographer for the  _Daily Prophet_  as soon as he graduated. In fact, it was a bit surprising that the Gryffindor and his younger brother hadn't yet started a Hogwarts newspaper club or sold photographs to any of the Wizarding papers. They were missing out on a lucrative opportunity; Colin probably didn't out of some notion of loyalty to the Slytherin champion. Harry grinned at the thought.

There was to be a visit to Hogsmeade the following Saturday. Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to go even though he had some time to himself, what with the mole needing to be routed out first. He needed to exchange the cheque for Galleons so he'd have those on hand since he couldn't yet freely access his vault. At least the week's classes had been relatively boring after the excitement of the Second Task. Harry thought it was better to be boring than busy. It was certainly possible that the Institute was winding down for Easter Break. Ms. Oke mentioned it was a big holiday in the States during a tutoring session. Remembering Dumbledore's firm warning, Harry asked her, "You sat with me to talk about the failings of the Hogwarts curriculum back in November. What were they again?"

The principal smiled, lifting a hand and ticking a finger up whenever she listed a different grievance. "The assignment of an unqualified teacher to the Care of Magical Creatures class, the rotating door of barely qualified teachers through the Defense Against the Dark Arts program, the pathetically medieval teaching of Runic magic, the long-winded and dead History of Magic teacher who hasn't covered events more recent than the Fall of Grindelwald, and Muggle Studies being an elective."

"And the lack of a Magical Basics class," Harry prompted.

She nodded. "Yes, definitely that one. Can't imagine it's been easy adapting after you were raised by Muggles."

Harry banished his lingering suspicion finding her answers sufficient enough. Besides, why would a servant of Voldemort bother teaching him nonverbal magic? That seemed counterproductive.

Hogsmeade weekend came and with it a grey overcast sky. It had been much warmer than usual, which foretold the coming of a late winter snowstorm, characteristic for this time of year.

After Harry trekked into Hogsmeade with his friends, Theodore pointed out the squat Goblin shop, which had a sign in extremely strange script that was neither Cyrillic nor Runic, where he could get his cheque exchanged for a small fee.

"Let me speak for you. You'd get a better deal from these scalpers."

Harry shook his head. "I can manage, Theo." When he pushed open the door that he had to stoop and hunch his shoulders together to get through, Harry found that the dim space inside was far more cavernous than the opening would make one appear. The moment he entered, his watch had gone cold.

Guttural gabble came from the first goblin to see him. The goblin looked somewhat young; their hair was not near as thin as the goblins of Gringotts. The heavy face drooped into a severe frown at the appearance of the three who had just entered and then yelled an order hoarsely towards the backroom.

A wrinkled faced goblin came, hobbling as though their side pained them. "Service to humans is at the back door. Can't you  _read_?" Her voice was harsh like nails against stone, each word painfully loud like a hammer blow. Her assistant chuckled in a grating manner and after a negligent look at Harry with beady eyes the goblin uttered a few words that he suspected were unkind.

Harry met Theodore's eyes and nodded, stepping back.

His roommate moved forward with a stagger as if he had much shorter legs, and then signed something with his fingers and began speaking in a strident, gruff way. The assistant goblin's dark green skin darkened the more Theodore spoke, his teeth clenched in obvious anger.

In the silence after, Theodore nodded to the goblin who likely owned the establishment and signed something else. He turned and grabbed Sally-Anne and Harry by the elbows and shoved them through the door.

When the door had closed behind him and they were trying to keep up with Theodore's stride, Theodore shushed Harry before he could get a word out.

"Dorenot!" The name was bellowed, and every witch and wizard in the street looked with dismay. The old goblin was standing by the door, testily tapping her fingers against her leg. Then she disappeared through the open doorway.

"Disgraceful having that kind of rabble in Hogsmeade—" came from a passing couple.

"How dare he disturb the peace!" Another wizard proclaimed to the gawking onlookers.

"I'd say you're doing your fair share of it," Theodore quipped back, ignoring the wizard's spluttering, and dragged them into the quaint shop. Sally-Anne shut the door again.

The proprietress sat on the stool, her long fingers threaded with one another before her on the counter. "What business do you have?" She barked out.

Theodore pulled a cheque of the same size and color as Harry's from his jacket, leaving Harry to quickly check his pouch. His cheque was being passed over because his friend had pickpocketed him. It was clear that Draco was not the only kleptomaniac.

Smiling, Sally-Anne nodded when Harry showed her the pouch and gestured to the cheque. She lifted a finger to her lips and pointed back to the transaction. Cheque in hand, the goblin was closely inspecting it, probably for forgery, and smacking her lips as if something sour had crossed her tongue. She set it down and glared at Theodore.

Not saying a word, Theodore made a sign of three while crooking his pinky and ring fingers and then lifted his index finger up.

Laughing, the goblin uncurled her fingers from one another. "I wouldn't give my own mother that good of a deal!" She signed what looked like an 'o' and dipped it beneath her hand.

"What generosity, Blucknug!" Theodore seemed to boast. "If it was intended for a begging felon," he growled.

Blucknug's teeth bared in an unfriendly manner and she set a thumb below her first index finger and twisted the wrist once.

"Done. Ten sickles for the inconvenience of handling Wizarding monetary paper, Blucknug." Theodore tapped his forehead and dropped the hand gracefully. "This is not the sorriest place in existence as I previously remarked."

Blucknug growled something, and Theodore barked out a harsh laugh, baring his teeth.

Standing, she snarled a command to the back, and the goblin from before came in with fiercely intense eyes and set down a pile of Galleons and a few Sickles. Blucknug shoved them forward, causing the neat piles to tumble down. Harry pushed them into his pouch.

"Not very smart, Rypott," the proprietress snorted. "No defense from cutpurses."

"I'll keep that in mind in case any are dumb enough to try," Harry said cheekily, doing his best not to be confused at the… nickname?

"Truly, I misspoke about your small hoard, Grubglan. It cannot be the smallest I've witnessed," Theodore boasted.

"Dorenot, I will cut out the tongue of your firstborn at the earliest convenience," Grubglan hissed in fluent English. His complexion was no longer as dark.

"I would sooner gut you," Sally-Anne said displaying all her teeth, and the goblin assistant's smile grew more crooked.

Theodore laughed boisterously, clapping an arm across Sally-Anne's shoulders. "If you ever discover our warren, I will have deserved it!"

"Lyneper," Blucknug growled, "The tales of Dorenot's father, Leynot, speak of his spinelessness and conceit. My daughters would never be granted blessings to marry his orotund brood."

"Had the fates blessed you with daughters I may have entertained your lines of dung," Sally-Anne responded sweetly.

"Maybe you are not as dim-witted as I assumed by your muteness." The proprietress flapped her hand at them. "Be gone, wizards and witch. You're stifling business with your noise!"

With that Harry led the other two out, feeling quite off-kilter by the interaction. He thought it was strange how many insults were thrown with only one threat of actual violence when Theodore began to converse in Gobbledygook to Grubglan. Pouch heavier, Harry walked beside his quiet friends as they held hands. Was he the only one who thought the entire exchange bizarre?

"Why don't we grab some Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?" Sally-Anne asked, glancing at either wizard at each shoulder.

"As long as we can stop by the Three Hoops after," Harry said cheerfully, and his friends grinned knowing how much he wanted to go there.

The moment they entered the noisy pub, every eye seemed to turn to them. Some lingered on Harry, but others turned back to their conversation and meals.

"Harry Potter!" A dark-haired witch, wearing a crooked tie entirely too long for her outfit and a tipped fedora, waved a dark hand towards the large group of Salem Institute students. "You and your friends can join us. We'll cover your tab."

The Slytherins approached the expanded corner booth, which with a tap of a wand grew larger to accommodate them.

"I'm Shendra," the energetic witch said and began to introduce them, "This is Will, Ken, Manny, Mary, Rain, Tabby, Matt, Paul, Sam, Neil, Liz, Agnes, Rachel, Charity, and Jean." She beamed at their taken aback expression and took a seat. "What would you all like?"

"We want Butterbeers. And a small platter of fruit," Harry said congenially. He was hungry after the encounter with the goblins.

"I'm Sally-Anne Perks," his housemate said and then nodded towards Theodore, "And this is my boyfriend, Theodore Nott."

"Hah! He's a gorgeous one," one of the wizards said warmly. "Oh, and don't worry if you didn't catch our names right away."

Theodore immediately rattled off each name of the wizard's companions and then said, "And you're Manny, right?"

"Damn," the pale-skinned witch, who wore a bright green scarf and whose name was Sam, muttered. "Does he have eidetic memory, or what?" The other students shifted, either shrugging or nodding.

"No tellin'," blond-haired Agnes said with a thick twang. "I bet he does."

Harry's friend grinned broadly. "I never forget a face and name, but no, I don't have photographic memory."

Two waiters appeared delivering an array of drinks; some were water, tea, or Butterbeer, but others were of a magical variety that Harry hadn't seen before. There was a fizzy drink that would spark and whistle whenever Neil would take a drink and another that looked suspiciously like hot cocoa with an animated marshmallow in the shape of a cat that Tabby sipped gingerly from. Butterbeers were ordered and were soon delivered.

The Salem Institute students were quick to talk about themselves and their school and how absolutely awesome it was that they had managed to sneak into an extremely prestigious event like the Quadwizard Tournment. Charity and Will mentioned that they had read Harry's biography, but unlike Colin had years ago they didn't expound upon it. However, they were showering him with questions about the Second Task and why he didn't try using diving gear with an oxygen tank to deliver air instead of a fragile charm as a back-up measure.

"You mean, order some Muggle gear? But it could have reacted poorly to magic," Sally-Anne said.

"Magic doesn't react to purely pneumatic or hydraulic systems," Liz quipped. "Just make sure none of the equipment's digital and you're set."

"New-matic?" Theodore parroted.

The red-haired witch rolled her eyes. "Dear god, what do they teach you in that school named after a papillomavirus-ridden pig?"

"Nothing so deeply Muggle," Sally-Anne answered and noted the subtle expression of disgust at the word 'Muggle' by the SI students. "The Pureblood governors would raise a fuss if Professor Burbage taught as much as she wanted and the curriculum is heavily regulated by the Ministry."

Black-haired, sallow-skinned Matt immediately launched into a detailed description of pneumatic and hydraulic systems. Potential energy was stored in fluids, oiled-air for pneumatics and various slippery substances for hydraulics, some oil-suspensions or synthetics. The only electricity often needed was in the controls since they were smaller and cheaper than other systems, and those were replaced with a magical object to avoid any mishaps.

Harry found it quite fascinating that their country had managed to pair Muggle technology with magic without backlash. "So, how do you avoid breaking the International Statute of Secrecy if your Ministry is firmly enmeshed in the U.S. government's?"

Pale-haired Ken, the self-named history nerd, adjusted his glasses. "The only non-magical person who knows about us—beyond those considered to be family—is the President. The U.S. Department of Magical Resources is highly classified. Very highly. Not even the military generals know of its existence. Which is kinda ironic since the DoMR's funding comes from the military branch. It's completely staffed by those in the know, whether they're magical or non-magical."

The waiters emerged from a swinging door, holding trays of plates laden with steaming food, which was quickly passed to each of the students. Harry and his friends ate the fruit. Even the avid talking subsided as the US students heartily dug into their plates after their various meal options had expended the energy to perform a few tricks, like tap-dancing.

So, their Hogsmeade weekend was spent exchanging information with the animated foreign students. It was Shendra's idea to teach them the parody of their alma mater 'for shits and giggles' after another round of Butterbeer. A red-faced Sally-Anne had nearly snorted up her drink at the more lascivious lines in the school song, while Theodore laughed and threw an arm around her.

And so, hours later, the Slytherins' Hogsmeade weekend had passed supping with their guests' generosity. A weary Harry completely forgot about visiting Three Hoops, until they returned to Hogwarts. Well, it wasn't as if a new model broom was out yet.

"They're really likable, aren't they?" Sally-Anne looked at Harry and Theodore, who had so far remained silent on their walk back.

"Yes, wouldn't mind visiting their school to peek in on their Technomancy class. Shame you didn't get assignments from it, Harry," Theodore said amiably.

"Probably because it requires Muggle equipment that Hogwarts doesn't have," Harry said.

"That's right," Sally-Anne agreed, "Jean had talked about those metal Farrowday cages which block out passive types of  _magic_ without using magic to do it. Still it's  _amazing_  they can operate machines in their school because of it."

Harry sighed. "I don't understand the point of it. You can do anything with magic. Why bother studying Muggle technology with all its limitations?"

Sally-Anne gave him a strange look. "Because it's amazing, and you heard them talk about how the research being done is to help those born without magic to magical families."

"The term's Squib. No need to use so many words," Theodore interrupted. Sally-Anne gave him a stern look.

Before they could begin bickering, Harry said, "What I don't understand is why they found it and the term Muggle so offensive."

Neither knew, since they hadn't the courage to ask on the first meeting with the SI students.

Come Monday, Hermione was absent during Arithmancy. Harry didn't know why but he and Sally-Anne were extra diligent with their notes in case the Gryffindor wanted copies. After lunch, Hagrid had reappeared with more dreaded crates. Professor Grubbly-Plank was gone without any reason given. Thankfully, the crates seemed to be full of harmless Nifflers—well, harmless as long as one wore nothing made of metal that glittered or sparkled.

Ron and Neville seemed especially happy to see their professor. That was when Harry realized he hadn't seen much of Hagrid since Skeeter's article smeared him as a half-giant. With fresh eyes he noticed that Hagrid's face was a little less puffy and he was not as stout around the middle as he had at the start of February. Soon, their professor explained what he expected them to do: Pick a Niffler and try to find as many pieces of gold as they could which Hagrid had buried previously.

"This should be  _easy_ ," Draco declared after Crabbe and Goyle had pushed other students out of the way to get first picks. Harry fingered the silver clasp of his Spellfast Cloak, knowing he needed to take the cloak off before he got close to the black-furred, long-snouted creatures with spade-like feet.

"You okay, 'Arry?" Hagrid peered down at him anxiously.

"Yeah," the champion said. The half-giant clapped a massive hand on his shoulder, nearly causing Harry's knees to buckle. He looked up curiously.

"Yeh're goin' ter be fine fer the last Task. After yeh took on Lucy an' rescued Professor Snape, I know yeh can do anythin' yeh set yer mind to. Anythin'." Hagrid looked confident that the Slytherin could. "Yeh'll win, 'Arry an' make yer parents proud. I'll get yeh a Niffler."

When Hagrid went to go get one, Harry quickly slipped off his bewitched Muggle watch and his Spellfast Cloak and shoved both into his pouch, drawing the strings tightly and leaving it near the pile where the others had abandoned their valuables. He shivered a bit in the chilly air as he approached.

" 'Ang on, there's a spare. Who's missin'?" Hagrid frowned as he handed Harry the very cuddly creature. Its snout immediately went to his ticklish ear and made soft sniffing noises, and Harry gently swiped it away as he headed to the nearest spot of upturned dirt. "Ron, Neville, what's 'Ermione got up to?"

Neville paled a bit and Ron frowned. "She's at the infirmary," Ron answered, jabbing an elbow in Neville's gut when he began to say what for. "We'll tell you after class."

Lavender Brown and her Gryffindor friend Tanya Moffitt were glaring daggers at Harry as if he were at fault for whatever had happened. He looked to the mound which his Niffler had disappeared into. What had happened to Hermione? He glanced at the only Slytherins in class with him. Draco was quietly encouraging his Niffler to find as many gold pieces as possible, Goyle seemed especially enamored by the creatures patting his when it brought back several coins, and Crabbe looked a bit bored. Harry's Niffler butted its head against his shin, carrying a few shiny pieces of gold. Harry collected them and pointed at the next mound, and it made an adorable squeak and dove into the ground as if the soil were water.

"They wreck houses, Nifflers. I reckon they've got th' lot now," Hagrid boomed in answer to Ron across his garden. "Oh, there yeh are 'Ermione!"

Harry's head jerked up to see how she was. Her hands were heavily bandaged and she looked miserable. Draco's attention had also zeroed in on the Muggle-born as she walked across the lawn. He looked at Harry with a 'told-you-so' expression. Harry frowned back.

"Empty yer pockets. No sense in keepin' Leprechaun gold when it vanishes within a few days!" Hagrid peered at Goyle expectantly.

The thick Slytherin pulled out handfuls of the coins, looking resentful. Despite starting late, Harry's Niffler had collected the most gold pieces of the Slytherins. Draco was too distracted to berate Hagrid for making Goyle look like a fool. His eyes had continued to linger towards Hermione and then muttered about idiots opening unsolicited mail from unknown people.

Unable to keep the incredulity out of his tone, Harry asked quietly, "She had that from a letter?"

"Yes," Draco said flatly, "From the sharp odor of Izhev's Discharge Fluid, I would deduce that Madam Pomfrey treated a burn from undiluted Bubotuber Pus."

Harry gave him a long look as Hagrid proclaimed Ron as the winner and provided him with slab of Honeydukes chocolate as a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for dinner, and most of the students dispersed.

"Get your cloak back on before you catch death," Draco told Harry as they placed their Nifflers into the crates and collected their valuables. "Crabbe, Goyle, let's go." Without a backwards look, Draco started towards the castle with the other Slytherins, as Harry snapped the clasp together and huddled under his Spellfast Cloak. After putting on the watch, he took his time attaching his pouch to his belt.

Hermione was telling Hagrid about the hate mail she'd received with her morning post, and Hagrid commiserated with her telling her to chuck the rest straight into a fire.

"You missed a really good lesson," Ron said.

"Do you need help carrying anything?" Neville asked her.

Blinking at the both of them, she smiled. "Madam Pomfrey says it should heal up in a couple days and that I might need some help taking notes." At the stricken look at both of their faces, Hermione snickered looking happier than she had when she arrived. "I have a Dictum Pin. That should suffice." She looked pointedly towards the unnoticed Slytherin in the fading sunlight. "Right, Harry?"

"Harry!" Neville exclaimed happily.

The Slytherin started, since he hadn't meant to loiter for as long as he had. Hagrid turned his sizable frame. "'Arry! I thought yeh'd left with Malfoy. Come have a cuppa!" He looked at the Gryffindors, "Yeh're invited too, o' course."

"Sure, why not?" Ron said after the other Gryffindors glanced at him nervously. "Needs to be quick so we don't miss dinner."

Settled in Hagrid's warm cabin, they talked over tea and rock cakes about Skeeter's smear campaign. "It's obviously to discredit Professor Dumbledore for mishandling the Goblet of Fire and for allowing a half-giant to teach and Muggle-borns into Hogwarts!" Hermione exclaimed with exasperation. "What I don't understand is how she's listening in on private conversations. The quotes in the latest  _Witch Weekly_  article were correct. Viktor asked me to join him for the summer."

Hagrid insisted that Rita Skeeter wasn't allowed on Hogwarts grounds anymore, and Ron hadn't heard of a spell for eavesdropping, though that didn't necessarily mean it didn't exist.

"What if she Polyjuiced someone?" Neville asked.

That gave Hermione pause. "It's possible… but I don't think she'd take the risk. And who could she Polyjuice where it wouldn't raise suspicion?"

"Maybe she's a Legilimens," Harry said. "Have you seen her since the First Task?"

"No, I haven't."

A bit disappointed that his theory was wrong, Harry finished his tea. "Well, I should head back before Professor Snape gives me another detention. I hope you feel better, Hermione. If you want to learn a spell to burn a letter to ash, just ask."

They exchanged farewells, and Harry trudged up the hill to the bridge, belly grumbling. He had missed detention due to being Obliviated the week after the Second Task, but Harry didn't wish to draw Snape's attention to that by skipping lunch. Harry was quite done with detention.

His other classes went more or less as Harry expected. History of Magic was all about goblin rebellions; Harry had no desire to ever infuriate one as they tended to hold grudges for generations and seemed to distrust humans as much as humans distrusted them. In Ancient Runes class, they were learning to dismantle ever more complex traps. Harry found he had a leg up on the others because of the Modern Runes he'd learned. Many of them seemed specifically designed to simplify and counter convoluted Runic Patterns. Harry's marks hadn't improved by doing so, however.

Charms class was always a joy for Harry. As per directions, he effortlessly Charmed a falling stone to bounce before hitting the ground. He even earned Slytherin five points for doing it perfectly. Transfigurations had moved to cross-species transformations, which Harry didn't find all that challenging and he earned another five points for Transfiguring a black and white guinea fowl into a sleek guinea pig with an auburn coat and cream-white patterning around its face and belly.

The next day, the Defense Against the Dark Arts class was completely different compared to the lessons by the previous two teachers that term. Despite having the children of Death Eaters in his class, the scarred wizard was harsh but scrupulously fair, demanding rigorous practical demonstrations as if they were Auror Trainees, a comparison which Draco lamented. Professor Moody also assigned numerous essays on readings from the book and set a date for a test the following week, something that neither the imposter nor Ms. Oke had done. "If you can't articulate it on a scrap of paper to pass your O.W.L., then you won't be able to take the more advanced classes! Think of your defense training, Mr. Crabbe!" He'd barked out when their housemate complained under his breath about it.

Wynch had predictably not been the mole. Harry asked a question of him even though the seventh year felt no different to him, which he answered correctly. The Head Boy then promised to check the other prefects to strike them off the list of suspects. That had been ten days ago.

Draco caught up to Harry before he could get very far from the lunch table, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. With the Third Task on its way, Harry needed to rule out his other housemates.

"Draco, what did I say to you when you asked me whether my parents were the proper sort?"

"If you mean a witch and wizard, yes, they were," Draco recited as they headed up the stairs to the Great Hall for dinner. "Why?" Harry was about to respond when Draco lifted a hand. "Wait, don't answer that. I want to know what you said to me when I accused you of having a death wish."

"Which time? Because the first time I flat-out said I wasn't, and I made several points that you countered. I even said that it didn't make sense for a Dark Lord to be suicidal. Which I'm not on all counts."

Draco nodded, turning to his left. "Crabbe, what did you say to me at my grandfather's funeral?"

"Ain't the rotten sort supposed to live longer?" The hulking teen replied with a nasty grin.

Finding this answer satisfactory, Draco turned to the remaining Slytherin in the corridor with them. "Goyle, last year what did I say was my greatest fear?"

The solid-framed Goyle said with a bit of unease, "That a great person would die from your idiocy." He looked confused by the line of questioning, but Crabbe nodded.

"Why're ya checkin' us for Polyjuice?" Crabbe asked Harry, startling him by his candor. The stocky housemate was smarter than he often let on, and often played dumb if he could. Crabbe truly hated being called on in class.

"The headmaster told me that the mole's still here. I know his name is Barty Crouch, Jr., but I don't know anything else," Harry said wearily. "I'm confident you three can sort the rest of our housemates... I don't think he's Polyjuiced any of them, but it couldn't hurt to check."

None of them looked happy to hear that.

At least, it didn't take long for the entire Slytherin House to decide that the mole wasn't in their ranks.

Within the week, the Head Boy had ruled out the other prefects. The following weekend, the prefects then cloistered Slytherins in the common room at the same time, excluding the fourth years who had already absolved each other through more tedious means. When an hour and a half passed without transformation, the rest of Slytherin was ruled out. Collectively, Harry's housemates seemed quite relieved to be without a mole.

While the thirsty housemates guzzled water, Prefect Dedworth clapped to get their attention."Now that we've cleared you, who wants to join the Final Task Force? They'll show our champion the task after Easter break, but we seventh years have N.E.W.T.s to study for. So we need volunteers! We'll be available for consultation purposes, of course."

As several volunteered, Harry took a deep breath of air as he paced along the spacious back wall of the common room. Nearby, a group of sixth years exchanged ideas on how they would collect the data inconspicuously on their fellow students to rule out whether any of them were the mole or not.

"Herald Potter, might I have a word… in my study?" Salazar Slytherin asked from the painting above Harry.

Nodding, Harry let Wynch know where he would be and then left through the portrait-hole. At the corridor's dead-end, he whispered the correct phrase of Parseltongue. He slid through the wall and stood in Slytherin's Personal Study. Last time, it had been quiet as death… now he could hear Lionsnakes! What were they doing in here? " _Pardon me,_ " he hissed silently, worried he might stomp on someone's tail as he stepped towards Slytherin's painting.  _"I need to get to Slytherin's portrait. Excuse me_ ," he said to them. Going straight to the proud-looking bald-headed Founder, Harry looked around at the seemingly empty room, a little nervous at the sudden meeting. "So… what's this about?"

"Were you aware that the Opalescent Lionsnakes had made you their Sire?"

"Erm, no."

The ancient wizard waved slowly towards them. "They called you 'The Boy Who Survived Great Terror and Anguish'."

"That's how my name translated in Parseltongue."

"I see…" Salazar Slytherin's lips flattened into a frown.

Harry looked over the empty space, "…Why do they sound terrible, sir?"

"Their wounded have retreated here. Their Matriarch has reported that they have attempted to drive an evil out of Hogwarts castle and have so far been unsuccessful. I speculate that this evil is the mole of Lord Vole. This mole is incredibly clever to use Runic Traps to ensnare and kill them. The ones in here are the survivors of those traps, and most will be dead by sundown."

"Isn't there… couldn't we ask Professor Sprout to  _do_  something?" Harry looked at the emptiness, his heart wrenching in his chest. Barty Crouch, Jr. was obviously responsible for this.

"Professor Sprout has done as much as she can. Something is taking their magical vitality, draining them like a leech that refuses to be pried off."

"What about protective amulets?"

"Due to the changing nature of the Runic Traps, Professor Flitwick can only charm amulets to alert the Lionsnakes to a trap that is near." Lord Slytherin stroked his beard. "Professor Babbling is devising counter-measures with her NEWT-level students to find and dismantle the traps as quickly as possible. However, the culprit has adapted, adding ever more twisty Runic Patterns into them. I can only presume that this Barty Crouch, Jr. is a magical mastermind."

Listening to the faint whispers, Harry looked around the empty-looking room. "How long has this been going on?"

"For four moons."

 _Well_ , Harry thought, _that explained why I hadn't seen the Lionsnakes since the 'impostor' was taken into custody_. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No, Headmaster Dumbledore is desirous that you not involve yourself. However, your presence has boosted the Lionsnakes' tenacious spirits. You must never forget that you are a leader,  _their_ leader… just as you are the Herald of Slytherin House—"

Harry held up a tentative hand. "Sorry, sir…" he said hesitantly, "You mean you've been calling me a  _herald_?"

"I have. You are of higher rank than the Pursuivants, Theodore Nott and Sally-Anne Perks, are you not?"

"I'm not sure what those are…" Harry's eyes crossed a little. "Pursuivant?"

"The position of Herald is one chosen by the whole of Slytherin House… And in your case it was unanimous."

Harry had  _never_  heard of the position. There were prefects made every year from the fifth years, a wizard and a witch. Sometimes, before their seventh year started, a prefect was made into a Head Boy or Head Girl and another prefect was picked to fill the vacancy…Harry thumbed through his historical knowledge for answers about what a herald was. "Am I a… messenger or sort of like an Officer of Arms…? Do I have to watch over the suits of armor?"

The ancient wizard laughed, though it was brief. "Potter, it is true that a herald was historically an Officer of Arms…" Salazar Slytherin trailed off mid-sentence and stroked his beard thoughtfully. Then he said, "However, your role can be likened to that of an ambassador. As Herald you express the will of the students within my House directly to the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"And what are Pursuivants?"

"They are  _your_  Officers of Arms, chosen by you to assist you. Now then," the bald-headed wizard said. His expression grew quite severe.

"How did I become Herald?" Harry asked before the portrait said another word.

"Officially, the moment you embraced your housemates' given title of Grey Duke. Unofficially, when a third of the House began to use formal address— _Now_ , do not interrupt. You have a great many responsibilities to fulfill as Herald." The wizard looked at Harry balefully when he dared to open his mouth. Harry pressed his lips together, swallowing what he was about to say. "You may have noticed by now that you cannot lie to them, only misdirect."

Harry nodded.

"That was very deliberate when I set the magic down long ago. I know what you must be thinking:  _Why?_ " Lord Slytherin's twisted smile revealed crooked, yellow teeth. "Well, those of my House have cunning minds and are naturally wary of anyone with power over them. As their representative, what good would a Herald be if they could not trust him or her?  _Less than useless_. A consolidated House can only occur if its affairs are kept in order and its Herald remains honest and faithful."

That was very sly of the Founder.

"As for your responsibilities, you have fulfilled all but one… The fact that you have only neglected one speaks highly of your character and lowly of your temperament." Lord Slytherin steepled his hands, looking down his large nose. "You neglect to maintain your composure no matter the situation, displaying behavior that is hardly befitting of your title."

"What do you mean?" Surely, he didn't mean Yaxley or the imposter?

"Drawing your wand on your Head of House will hardly change the fact that he is a powerful vassal of Slytherin until he chooses to relinquish his position!" The painting hissed, the cheekbones flushed with color.

"He told you about that?"

Lord Slytherin laughed. "Evidently, you have not yet noticed the new painting in the Potions Laboratory. For seven months now, I have had the pleasure of observing your particular brand of cheeky defiance. I remember rather clearly your first day of Potions lessons this year, how you demonstrated the subpar quality of Longbottom's pewter cauldron when Severus warned the fool boy not to melt through another one. You entirely missed the most amusing expression upon Severus' visage."

"Er… I thought he must have known that Neville's cauldron had been too thin because he used it last year and was just warning him in a roundabout way. Come to find out there's a sham cauldron-maker around."

"Your Head of House wrote a letter to Longbottom's grandmother recommending that she only Owl-Order pewter cauldrons from Cooker's Cauldrons."

Harry's face fell. "I forgot to file a complaint with the Ministry. Percy Weasley asked me to file one, once I figured out who Mrs. Longbottom's supplier was."

"Severus already filed a complaint with the appropriate department at the Ministry of Magic, though it would help speed the process along to have you complain as well considering your  _famous_ reputation. The supplier is Gordon's Imports."

"Er… Thanks." Harry scratched his head, feeling sheepish.

"Now, Severus provided me with a rough history of the modern Wizarding World." The portrait gestured towards the hidden door to Snape's office. "Fret not. He cannot enter without the proper password. We have had a great many discussions using my portrait in his office. I must say that an unbalanced world was not what I was expecting to wake to."

Harry frowned. "Unbalanced, sir?"

"Yes. Magic naturally tries to maintain the delicate equilibrium woven within the fabric of existence. Otherwise there would be no life. Neither utter darkness nor intense brightness is hospitable to even the barest whisper of life… In either, energy exists in its purest forms as either potentiality or kineticality. The fact that the Mundanes have managed to amplify their spark of magic with their innumerable devices tells me that it is  _our_  world that has wrought the unbalance."

"Muggles have magic?" Harry said with some perplexity.

Salazar Slytherin steepled his hands together and pointed it at the floor. "Mundane Technology becomes non-functional in the presence of our magic. Yes?"

"That's because… well, electricity and magic don't mix."

"What else doesn't mix with magic?"

Harry thought for many long moments on all the lectures on the properties of magic from his various teachers, but couldn't think of a single thing.

"Let me rephrase: What doesn't  _play well_  with magic?" When Harry still gave no answer, the Founder stroked his beard patiently. "Have you  _ever_  encountered anything magical that defies your will on a whim? Say… a particular invention of Godric's that sings once a year in the Great Hall?"

Harry blinked at the mention of the Sorting Hat. "Enchanted Objects, sir…?"

The ancient wizard smiled. "Yes, Potter.  _Never_  forget that all life in this world, even that which is deceptively non-magical, carries a spark of magic. Otherwise, the Killing Curse would not work on a Mundane." Salazar Slytherin exhaled, "Now, away with you, Herald. I have much work to accomplish."

"Goodnight, Lord Slytherin." Harry enacted a courtly bow as Mrs. Longbottom had taught him. His brain was whizzing with confused thoughts. Maybe there was something to Technomancy.


	17. The Spy Game

During the weeks leading up to the short Easter break, Harry studied the books on merpeople in his spare time. They were fascinating, yet he soon abandoned the large compendium that had ten pages written about each known tribe and only focused on the one about Selkies of the Lochs, specifically the Black Lake ones. He learned I'atrr was actually a title designating his Selkie friend as the Primary Successor to the Merchieftain. Her duty largely was as Steward of Black Lake, and she had a score of Roamers tasked to keep an eye on the watery lands. They culled the Grindylow before they spawned beyond the capacity of Black Lake's resources and tended to the needs of the Giant Squid, since they viewed it as a sacred guardian. In turn, the cephalopod defended their colony and obeyed the commands of the Merchieftain.

The book explained why Rah I'atrr had been hovering outside the Slytherin common room, so far away from the safety of the colony. If not a Roamer, few Selkies made the long swim to Salazar Slytherin's Palace. To do so was seen as incredibly brave, and to commemorate it, certain rare-colored snails were collected to adorn one's hair with their shells. Her trident was gold, inlaid with silver, an heirloom passed down from the I'atrr predecessor to the next. It had been a gift from Helga Hufflepuff, who was a brilliant metal-weaver as well as a herbologist and magizoologist. It was Hufflepuff who defended their right to remain in Black Lake when Hogwarts was first founded. As a sign of their deepening friendship, the merfolk suggested that the first years cross the lake to better behold the splendors of Hogwarts. Ever since they have defended the crossing without fail.

Harry had no idea. It certainly illuminated why the Giant Squid was known to catch clumsy first years that had fallen into the dark, chilly waters and set them back into their boats.

Everything Rah I'atrr had done in Harry's first year spoke of a commitment to a long friendship. The kiss was a quirk of this and allowed Rah I'atrr to save face to her fiancé, since kissing another's lips or cheeks oddly negated the implication of an offering of Gill's Weed. To merpeople, kissing was an act of friendship or kinship, whereas the offering of Gill's Weed was generally given to humans who were potential lovers.

Hissing or growl-clicking signified either anger or warning of danger. If a Selkie ever had flashing facial fins, the book advised that the diver ascend and quickly before they were caught and cursed with a suite of incurable afflictions. On the flip side, a Selkie's Blessing provided a multitude of benefits to those fortunate enough to receive it. Harry scanned the next two pages showing the markings of the cursed and blessed and what they did. He stopped at one finding it familiar, and then ripped down his sleeve comparing the unhealed, sharply outlined emerald-green mark that resembled a Roman shield. He had kept putting off a visit to Madam Pomfrey as he hadn't felt ill because of it, and the patch had stopped itching altogether.

His eyes traveled back and forth between the two. Rah I'atrr hadn't only given him the Gill's Weed. She'd given him the most powerful blessing known to her people.

_So long as the Selkie who gave Diana's Blessing lives, you shall have increasing defense against physical and magical assault. Also known as Selkie Battle-skin, this blessing is a boon to those wizards or witches who are sure to meet dangerous beasts in their path. The longer it remains etched, the stronger its effects; however, many of those who receive it have it removed before it fully sets due to its brilliant color and the stigma against freely accepting the help of a lowly Beast._

_Within a year, the blessing will have enmeshed with the magical vascular system of the lucky individual and resist all attempts to be removed thereafter. Those given Diana's Blessing will, within two lunar cycles, have skin impervious to the strike of an un-Enchanted weapon. Every year thereafter, the marking will expand, revealing the improved degree of protection and be that much more obvious to others. After a decade, the Battle-skin will be able to cover the individual head to foot when summoned forth and deflect nearly all curses and hexes, except for the Unforgivables._

"Found something curious?" Draco's light voice said behind him, and Harry quickly covered his wrist knowing exactly how the bigoted prat would react to it.

"I didn't realize that Selkies had curses and blessings," Harry stated, gesturing towards the hand-painted pictures touched with magic that made them glitter.

Draco snorted. "That's what comes of wizards consorting with that ilk. Why do you think Sirens look so human?"

Harry made a face as his imagination went wild trying to apply what he knew about humans to merpeople. He shook his head, trying to clear it from his mind. That cemented it; he would skip the sections on 'Courtship Rituals' and 'Parenting Competences'. He sincerely didn't want to know how Selkies mated.

"They spawn once a year, but most don't take or the taddies die soon after hatching," Crabbe said.

Laughing at Harry's horrified expression, Draco picked up the book and leafed through the pages.

"Yeah, too much inbreeding." Theodore nodded in agreement with Crabbe. "It's why they encourage the wooing of wizards. More productive than the one taddy born from a witch every two months."

"Didn't want to know that, you arses," Harry growled, snatching the book back from Draco, while Goyle quietly watched the interaction.

"Weren't you French-kissed by a Selkie at the start of the Second Task?" Theodore quipped.

"No, and according to that book it means friendship."

"Among merpeople," the werewolf corrected. "She could have intended it as a human courtship ritual."

Boggled, Harry didn't say anything, until he heard snickering from the back of his mind. His face heated. "Rah I'atrr has a fiancé."

"Hate to tell ya, but Selkies don't do exclusivity," Crabbe butted in. "Not in their nature."

"How foul, Crabbe," Draco complained with a wrinkled nose, "Are you seriously suggesting that he father taddies?"

The hulking teen shrugged his massive shoulders. Without Quidditch practice, he had gained more weight than his trousers could properly contain. His belly spilled out over the waist of them, even though Draco adjusted them every week. Goyle, on the other hand, had cut back on the sweets and snacks and had a healthier appearance.

"Any word about the next training session?" Harry quickly asked Draco before the prat grew too attached to the conversation about Selkies. "It's been nearly three months since I was ambushed in the greenhouse."

Shaking his head, Draco smirked. "The strategists won't allow me into their meetings now believing that I tipped you off. I have heard whispers that they took time to create counter-Runes that would avoid another embarrassing end. I hope your bag of tricks has extended beyond the humble Freezing Charm?"

"It has," Harry said. "I look forward to whatever they've got planned."

The four grinned at one another.

"We do, too," Theodore said with enthusiasm that stoked Harry's suspicion.

For the first time since he became a Hogwarts student, he departed with Neville on the Hogwarts Express to spend Easter at a place beyond the castle. Barring Augusta's strict mealtimes, he had an all-around enjoyable stay with Neville, and even received a giant gift-basket full of snuffling chocolate bunnies and hopping chocolate eggs delivered from Honeydukes on behalf of his godfather. Harry wondered when Sirius had arranged that. Before he dug in with Neville, he jotted a quick thank-you letter, sealing it into the pre-made Azkaban-approved envelope he'd ordered in a set of ten from Pennyworth's and sent it off with Hedwig.

By the end of Easter break, the _Daily Prophet_  reported that Barty Crouch, Jr. was officially still at-large. The report explained that the Moody impostor had transformed into Winky, Crouch's old house-elf who had recently been released from service to the family. Bartiemus Crouch, Sr. had been sentenced ten years in Azkaban for the crime of smuggling his Death Eater son out of confinement. For his wife's part, her remains would stay interred in the graves within Azkaban for the same period. Winky only explained the sordid plot after Crouch, Sr. had ordered her to; the article detailed how, after Crouch sentenced his own son to life in Azkaban, his wife had gone mad with grief, and that became the motivation behind the body swap plot. At the tail end of the article was mention of the house-elf's execution for confessing to aiding and abetting a known Death Eater.

Harry knew that Hermione would send him a letter laced with bitter anger over how the house-elf was promptly put to death like an animal, while Death Eaters— _known_  murderers and such—were left alive. Honestly, if Harry had a choice, he would have opted for instant death instead of sure company with Dementors for ten years. It seemed the kinder sentence to him, though he didn't at all agree that Winky's crime merited either sentence.

The whole of Hogwarts Express was on tenterhooks at the news as the train carried them back to Hogsmeade. In the subsequent editions of the  _Daily Prophet_ , there were several articles suggesting the premature end to the Quadwizard Tournament, since as a judge Barty Crouch, Sr. could have tampered with the Goblet of Fire to force a fourth champion though the felon had denied any such doing… However, the one with vetoing power, Cornelius Fudge, had said in his interview that the matter of Crouch, Jr's escape had happened ages ago, independently of You-Know-Who and whoever wanted to sabotage a tournament that fostered international cooperation. Of course, the Minister's reputation was bruised by the whole scandal since he had given much fanfare to the capture of a dangerous Death Eater and the fact that Bartiemus Crouch, Sr. had been an ardent anti-Voldemort adherent handing out the harshest sentences to any of the Death Eaters caught.

When they stepped into the Entrance Hall, Harry took a big sigh of relief. He was jumpier without his Invisibility Cloak to sneak under whenever something spooked him. Unsurprisingly, the headmaster made a speech that evening, after dessert had been served, about the permanent placement of Percival Weasley as a judge for the tournament because of 'extraordinary events' which had removed the previous judge. Professor Dumbledore stressed calm and patience. He reminded them of the Lionsnakes' protective presence—without mentioning that many were injured in their hunt for the mole. "A contingent of Aurors will make rounds during all hours of the day instead of the prefects. I expect each and every one of you to afford them every courtesy, given their specialized expertise," he said. Clapping his hands together, he sent them off to bed with a cheerful, "Goodnight!"

Even though Harry knew the seriousness of the situation, he was vexed that judgment had been expedited with Barty Crouch, Sr. and not Sirius Black. There hadn't been any news at all about the closed-to-the-public trial. He especially worried when Hedwig arrived back a day earlier than expected with the thank-you letter undelivered. Something had happened to Sirius and there had been no official notice or letters telling Harry what was going on. He could hazard some hazy guesses. Either his godfather was dead—something too horrible to contemplate—or he was no longer findable.

"Where is he, Hedwig?" Harry murmured as he brushed her downy feathers. He froze. The Ministry wouldn't have had Sirius Kissed without trumpeting the demise of the, albeit wrongly accused, 'Muggle Mass-Murderer' to the whole of the Wizarding Britain, would they?  _No_ , he thought firmly,  _Sirius is probably in an Unplottable location awaiting the outcome of his trial and no one told me._

"It wasn't delivered?" Goyle asked after catching sight of the letter obviously intended for an occupant of Azkaban.

"No, it wasn't," he said easily and tucked the returned letter into his desk. He caught Draco staring unabashedly in his direction and knew that it would be pulled out the moment Harry left the room. He didn't mind that so much, preferring to dole out 'secrets' to the others in this fashion to keep them from prying true ones out of him.

Several times he had to stop himself from making a game of it. It wouldn't be too hard to write fake love letters and the like and see which ones, if any, became chaff for the gossip millstone to grind. That way he could see which potential love interests a particularly nosy pureblood approved of over the others before Harry dove into the dating scene the following school year. Oh, he didn't care what Draco thought, really. It would be a test run so that he could anticipate the slander he and whoever he asked out would need to deal with it or, better yet, to silence it.

The next week Harry was escorted by Mervyn Wynch—Head Boy privileges, he said—to the Quidditch Pitch, which had gone through a radical transformation. Harry stared at the nearest hedge about the height of his hip. He and the other champions waited for Professor Flitwick to appear.

"Hello there!" called a cheery voice. Harry and the other champions turned to the short professor. "Follow along, follow along."

The champions were led into one of the paths, which looked like a crop of bushes. Harry could just make out where the hedges stopped short of the Forbidden Forest.

"Let's get straight to it. What you see around you is the beginnings of a maze. You will each have to surpass whatever obstacles you find in your path on your way to reach the Quadwizard Cup it first. Only the one who touches it first will get full marks."

Harry carefully scoped the layout, trying to memorize it with his mind. Maybe it wouldn't change much before the start of the final task?

"We seemply 'ave to get through ze maze?" Fleur said, looking dubiously at the hedges.

"Professor Hagrid is providing a number of dangerous creatures. Along with the maze itself, Professor Sprout has also added a number of plants to slow your trek down… there will be Runic Traps courtesy of Professor Babbling and my own rather complicated Enchantments that must be broken through. There will also be false Triwizard—ah, that is, Quadwizard Chalices meant to lure you into these situations or bring you back to the beginning…" Professor Flitwick looked among them. "Any other questions?"

Harry stared at the endless rows of bushes, trying and failing to see where the center would be. Every labyrinth had one. Maybe he could see it on a broom?

"Who gets to enter first?"

"Ah, yes, very good question, Mr. Diggory. The champion who is leading on points will go first, that would be Miss Delacour. Then Mr. Potter. And then Mr. Krum. Followed by you, Mr. Diggory. With the obstacles in place, it's likely any one of you may reach the cup first." The Charms professor looked among them. "Any others?"

Harry bit his tongue before he asked whether it was within the rules to scope the maze out from a higher vantage point. He didn't want to give the other champions the same idea. Finding that his Firebolt had disappeared somewhere—probably another scheme of Dobby's to keep him 'safe'—Harry had shrunk one of Neville's old brooms and carried it in his pouch.

The small professor clapped his hands together. "Very well! Off to the castle then." Professor Flitwick trotted ahead of them as the champions wend their way out of the still-growing maze. Harry imagined the hedges would be much taller with special fertilizers and spells to aid their growth over the course of a month. As they left the proto-Labyrinth, he headed towards Wynch who stood outside the crop of hedges. When a firm hand tapped Harry's shoulder, he looked up. A slouching Krum gave him a stony look. "Yes?"

"May I hav a vord?"

"Er," Harry hesitated because the last time the Durmstrang champion had wanted to speak to him the school believed they'd had a moment in the gardens during the Yule Ball. "Yeah, all right, as long as Wynch—"

"No, alone," came the gruff reply. Krum shot a suspicious glare at the other two champions' backs. As usual Delacour and Diggory were rather chummy, walking and laughing among themselves as if close friends.

Aware of Krum's hostile stare, Harry raised a hand at Wynch to get his attention, and the Head Boy nodded. Harry and Krum went to the edge of the forest and stopped at a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons' horse paddock. Harry saw that the Head Boy was still in line of sight of him. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

"I vant to know," Krum said glowering down at him, "Vhat there is between you und Her-my-ahnee."

This confused Harry for only a moment and then he was grinning up at Krum. So, Hermione's crush was reciprocated. Why else would the Bulgarian appear jealous? "Absolutely nothing. You shouldn't believe a word Rita Skeeter writes when it comes to her professional opinion or gossip column." Harry grinned at him cheekily, but this made the older wizard surlier.

"Her-my-ahnee talks about you very often," the scowling Krum said, shifting from one foot to the other. His features had grown darker as if Harry was not being completely honest.

"Because we've been friends—penpals, really—since our first year. We have a lot in common since we were both raised by Muggles." Harry couldn't believe he was trying to reassure  _Viktor Krum_ , a famous international Quidditch Seeker. It was as though he, Harry, was an equal—a real rival for Hermione's fancy. Not that Harry particularly wanted her fancy. In fact, better not to have it all. She might make it her personal goal to improve whatever shortcomings, imagined or not, he had, which he already had in spades with an annoying roommate.

"You hav never… You hav not…" Poor Krum was stuck somewhere between relieved and skeptical. Unable to finish his statement, he glowered at the tree near them, looking uncomfortable.

"No, I've never dated her  _or_  kissed her, and don't plan to in the future." When the other champion looked thoroughly unconvinced, Harry frowned and crossed his arms. He had no desire to be interrogated about whether he intimately coupled with anyone. "Look. If you really must know, I find the idea of snogging anyone repellent," he said hurriedly, blushing at the thought of the eighteen-year-old suggesting something far beyond Harry's scope of experience.

Krum looked slightly happier. He stared down at Harry for a few seconds and then said gruffly, "I apologize. I should hav trusted Her-my-ahnee at her vord." Rubbing a hand over his scruffy chin, he clumsily changed the subject. "Ah vell. So, I vatched you at first task."

"What about it?" Harry gave the taller champion a curious look.

"I think to myself, Potter is a madman, I do not ever vant to cross  _him_."

Feeling much taller at the words, Harry grinned. It was very strange; usually praise felt insincere. "Thank you, but you don't need to worry. You have to do something exceptionally wicked to raise my ire," he said his grin twisting as he thought of Draco and Tracey. "You shouldn't doubt Hermione. She's really fond of you and writes about you frequently in her letters."

Krum's expression softened, though he still looked grumpy.

"I think if you shared with her how you felt, privately of course, she'd be over the moon. She might even like to visit you in Bulgaria over the summer."

The older teen grew surly at the suggestion and shifted without a word, looking thoughtful. Hermione wasn't kidding when she said he wasn't much of a conversationalist.

"If you're worried, you could always ask her parents to come along," Harry continued. "They're nice people. And if you think that's too forward, then you could suggest she get a chaperone instead. I couldn't see Hermione refusing to see new sights and places if she can finish her Hogwarts summer homework and study Bulgarian magical history while she's at it."

With a small frown, Krum stared at Harry for another moment. "You believe that she vould go—" But something moved behind him in the trees, and Harry, who remembered Neville's warning about acromantula, instinctively grabbed Krum's arm and pulled him around, though the larger wizard initially resisted.

"Vhat is it?" The Bulgarian's eyes were intense and sharp, holding up his wand to the shadows of the forest.

Wand also up, Harry shook his head, staring at the place where he'd seen movement. He hoped Wynch was—

"You alright, Harry?" The Head Boy said, wand drawn as he stood on the other side of his shoulder.

"I thought… It's nothing I guess." The forest was motionless and unnaturally still. Harry didn't trust it for a second.

"Let's head back to the castle," Wynch suggested readily. "There are all manner of Dark Creatures lurking in the forest."

Neither champion argued and they headed back to Hogwarts Castle. Once inside the Great Hall, the trio separated to join their friends at the Slytherin table. Krum had a thoughtful expression again and would look towards the Gryffindor table when he forgot himself.

"How was it?" Sally-Anne asked eagerly. "I heard they took over the Quidditch Pitch. No wonder they cancelled Quidditch!"

So, Harry told them about the Final Task, no doubt the same thing that Wynch would to the prefects.

Once he finished, Draco said, "After you collected the Philosopher's Stone by yourself, I doubt it's going to be much trouble for you to make it to the center first, especially since there aren't any hostages involved. And don't you dare play hero if the other champions get themselves into trouble. You're in this to  _win_!"

Taking a page from Krum's book, Harry remained silent, not really wanting to argue while he ate.

"What's wrong with you?" When Harry didn't answer, Draco turned to Theodore. "What've you done to him?"

"Take your head out your arse. You're pressuring him to abandon common decency," was the agitated reply. It was a few days to the full moon, and Harry was surprised he wasn't gone yet. Draco sniffed in obvious disagreement, but turned to his food instead of continuing.

"So, why did you walk into the forest with Viktor Krum and Head Boy Wynch?" Sally-Anne's eyes were piercing behind her glasses.

"He wanted to ask what my relationship with Hermione was…" At her amused expression, Harry said pointblank, "And that's not what people will talk about, is it?"

"Correct," she answered and patted his back once sympathetically when he placed his forehead on the table and made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. He really had more important things to bother with.

The next morning Hedwig swooped in with a letter in her beak and dropped it into Harry's lap before perching on his shoulder. She nipped a little harder on his ear than usual. Her orange eyes looked very peeved with him. "Ow! Hedwig, I'm sorry I've overworked you, no need to take it out on my ear." He set his bacon in his mouth and then gave her a peace offering from his plate as he flipped the letter over.

Harry brightened when he recognized Sirius' handwriting. This was proof that his godfather was still alive! Unfolding the letter, his excitement quickly faded as he read.

**_Harry—what do you think you're doing walking into the Forbidden Forest with Viktor Krum? I warned you to stay away from him. I want you to swear, by return owl, that you are not going to go walking with anyone else to cop off in the forest, especially with someone like that Krum! The impostor is still at Hogwarts and he could be anybody!_ **

Harry choked on the bacon. Cop off with  _Krum_? That was the furthest he could get from the truth.

**_If someone wants to ferry you away, they're on their last chance. Stay close to your friends and allies. Do not leave the Slytherin Dungeons after-hours and doubly prepare yourself for the Third Task. Practice your offensive and defensive spellwork. Keep your head down and look after yourself. I have retracted my permission for you to go to Hogsmeade and have informed the headmaster that you are not to leave Hogwarts castle other than for class or that damnable last Task._ **

**_I'll be waiting for that promise, Harry._ **

**_Sirius_ **

Harry's clenched hands shook with anger. After weeks— _months_  of writing daily letters with no response, this was how his godfather chose to respond? To berate him about a nonexistent relationship? The worry and frustration reached a boiling point running beyond his ability to keep calm and centered, and Harry spat out, "Who's he to lecture  ** _me_**?"

"Who?" Sally-Anne looked a bit worried. Voraciously, Theodore was eating mostly bangers and bacon, while ignoring everything else.

The letter was snatched from his fingertips, and Draco turned his back to him so Harry couldn't reduce it to ash. He was tired of telling the prat to stop taking people's things without permission, so he let it go and grabbed another piece of bacon. Hedwig nipped the back of his collar hooting softly until he offered her another piece. Gulping it down, she took off.

The light flared as his godfather's letter burst into flame, and Harry didn't care. This made it the second time that Sirius had tried to lecture him.

"Well. That certainly explains why you've been in such a mood." The blond prat smirked. "Did Krum turn you down?"

Harry seethed with irritation, clamping down on his mental defenses before the soul-shard could slither in. "Stop running your mouth before I stick your nose to your knees." Before more could be said, the warning bell for Monday morning classes toned. Harry snubbed Draco's response, waved good-bye to Theodore, and left with Sally-Anne.

"Was that from your godfather?" When Harry scowled moodily at her, she dropped that line of conversation with a little frown.

As usual, once Hermione joined their group, she and Sally-Anne chatted the entire way to the Arithmancy classroom. Harry decided to keep his earlier conversation with Krum quiet. He didn't want Hermione to spend time imagining how the Durmstrang champion would approach her and add extra pressure on Krum to meet her usually over-the-top expectations. While they passed the corridor windows, the Hogwarts spring-green grounds never looked more inviting than when Harry was told he had to stay indoors. He'd take a broom out today, Black and Snape be damned, and run reconnaissance over the maze. At least he'd ask some of the sixth years who'd volunteered to help with the Final Task; maybe Warrington and Bletchley wouldn't mind escorting him.

Entering the Arithmancy classroom, Harry looked to the windows, but as usual he was disappointed that they were much too small for anything but light to be brought in. After summoning their homework scrolls, Professor Vector adjusted her emerald shawl. "Calculus and Algebra groups, take your parchments and get to work. Everyone else pay attention. You'll have a test next week."

"Here, Harry," Hermione said brightly next to him, sliding the parchment with the new exercise sets under his elbow.

Harry looked down at it and began to fill out what he knew. The rest he attempted to do on scratch paper… Some time passed as Terry Boot tutored them on the fundamentals, Harry was writing down some tips when his scar began to ache. Then it flared without warning. Harry hissed, clapping a hand to his forehead—

 _The infant's head turned, crimson eyes widening with excitement. "Ah, I am gratified to see you darken my doorway. Come to me… show me…"_ —

"Harry!" Someone was shrieking but they sounded far away. The scar was on fire, and he had fallen to the cold, stone floor.

— _A long, black sleeve was pulled back and the skin was so pale that green and blue veins could be seen. There was the Dark Mark, a snake in the shape of an infinity sign, its head poking out through the eye of a skull_.—

"What's wrong with him?!" A voice shouted—Boot?—as Harry curled on his side and bit down on a lip to keep from groaning _._  His head felt like it was splitting in half.

_—"—done, milord," the newest servant to return murmured lowly beneath his hood, and the Master cackled loudly._

_"You must know I would punish you for publicly denouncing me…"_

_"Yes, milord."_

_"However, you have maneuvered yourself into a valuable position." The stubby fingers tapped along the rose-hued wand. "Tsk. Always making this more difficult than it should be…" There was another moment of stillness and then a hiss of "_ Nagini, intimidate." _The massive snake unwound from her perch and slid across the floor towards the servant. "Though it pleases me that you've continued your mission of spying, you delayed answering my summons. Was it that doddering old fool keeping you?"_

 _The servant stiffened, but remained without excuse, as Nagini brushed the hem of his robes, hissing "_ Hope you die; then I'll feast on your corpse. Heh, heh."

_"It was not the headmaster, milord," came the cool murmur._

_"No? Pity. It appears that time has made you soft. **Weak**."_

_Beetle-black eyes met Voldemort's, and indistinct memories filtered through. "I wished to put my affairs in order, milord."_

_"Lord Voldemort does not need you to die, Severus. Not at all. Total compliance, however, is necessary." The tip of the wand pointed downwards, " **Crucio.** "_—Harry screamed as the pain intensified and multiplied. He thrashed. Blood like hot molten metal felt as if it had dripped down part of his nose— _The servant did not scream, even as his hood fell down while his limbs spasmed and face contorted in agony beneath greasy, clumped hair_ —Every nerve in Harry's body was on fire and yet he couldn't move, breathe.

There was a flash of light without incantation and Harry's hand came away from his forehead and his jaw snapped shut. His legs went ramrod straight, banging into chairs beside him, and his arms locked to his sides.

" _Harry_!" Sally-Anne cried out, and then Hermione's voice was also shrill as she said something, but Harry couldn't understand any of it. Then there was a red jet of magic and—

When Harry opened his eyes, he was in the infirmary. Again. His scar was burning so badly that his eyes felt swollen. He closed them. The pain had been real. Professor Snape… he'd…

Harry's stomach was in knots, sickened by the vision. Eyes watering when he forced them open, he stared up at the blurry, dark ceiling. There had to be some reason for it. The vision didn't have to be true, did it?  _Yes_ , Harry thought,  _that's right_. With their magical entanglement, Voldemort could make Harry see whatever he wanted. Who was he casting the Torture Curse on, if not the Potions Master? Crouch, Jr.? Jorkins? No sane witch or wizard would dare go back to a master they had so openly spurned, commanded to return or not.

"Finally awake?" The familiar voice washed over Harry.

He turned his head slowly and saw Wynch standing beside the bed. "I was… in Arithmancy." Harry lightly touched the tender scar on his head with very cool fingers. "What happened?"

"You scared the daylights out of Professor Vector. She said you looked like someone had thrown a Torture Curse on you, milord." When Harry didn't say anything, Wynch knelt by the side of the bed.

"Don't. Don't call me that," Harry swallowed convulsively feeling like he might vomit any moment.

"Sorry. It slips out." The Head Boy frowned in apology. "Water?"

"Thanks," he rasped taking the glass and gulping until it was nearly empty. He handed it back to Wynch, resting his head on the pillows. Closing his eyes seemed to help with the pain, and his stomach settled some. His head throbbed, and the dim light of sunset made it worse. He found it morbidly amusing that he had been here so often that he could tell the difference between sunrise and sunset from the angle of the light.

" _Muffliato_ ," Wynch cast. Then Harry heard the scrap of a chair being moved by the bed and his glasses were placed into his hands. "That fit of yours, whatever it was, gave me a terrible headache. The Deputy Headmistress summoned me to assist Madam Pomfrey in case you had another one. The headmaster's been in meetings non-stop with Ministry officials about the preparations for the Final Task and Professor Snape was on an Apothecary run."

Something flickered outside his awareness, irritating Harry, and he frowned. "He's not, is he? Running an errand." At Wynch's tight expression, Harry grabbed the edge of the bed, willing him to speak the truth. It was months ago that Voldemort had summoned his wayward servant back.  _Months_.

The Head Boy wet his lips. He said nothing for a long moment and then he breathed out. "Did you see him? Was he… Is he alright?"

Harry nearly chuckled hysterically. Nearly. He leaned back and tempered his breathing, eyes on the Head Boy. "If what I saw can be trusted, the Torture Curse was cast on him at full intensity." Unbidden, images of a black-robed body seizing up on a grey stone floor flashed through Harry's mind, but the only screaming he remembered was his own.

There was a pronounced wince from Wynch. "Professor Snape will need special care when he returns."

Closing his eyes, Harry willed the anger to abate just long enough for him to get a clear understanding. "Why the bleeding hell would he go back? I don't understand. He's a traitor and he went back—willingly!—and submitted to him!" Harry gathered his fists tightly on his thighs, his temper almost getting the better of him. "No one was twisting his arm to go."

**_Of course not._ **

His bloodsworn servant fiddled with a stray thread he picked from his sleeves, ruminating. "He likely thought he had a higher chance of surviving doing it this way than avoiding the Dark Lord."

" _A higher chance of survival_ ," Harry returned, feeling his face go hot. "The bastard put his affairs in order! That doesn't sound like he believed he would be allowed to live," Harry snarled. He was so helplessly angry that he hardly noticed Wynch wincing. "Did he want to martyr himself that badly?"

**_Are you always this dim-witted when the least complicated answer is right in front of you?_ **

Harry refused to believe it. Not of the wizard who was so contrarily protective of him. His mind whirled in disarray, surrendering control as it spiraled into denial and rage. Then his lungs emptied gently, and his features smoothed out. His body sagged against the mattress, and said, "He has betrayed us."

The Head Boy opened his mouth then thought better of what he was about to say.

Harry's thoughts were still a muddling mess as his eyes flicked to his bloodsworn servant. "Professor Dumbledore must be told."

"He should be done with the meetings by now. I shall ask for his presence, if I may." The ward was cancelled after Harry's head nodded.

With Wynch gone, Harry's lips let out a dark giggle as a hand lifted and curled before his eyes. "Why do you never clean beneath your nails? It's disgusting," the soul-shard murmured, taking up Harry's wand to make the nails the same length and cast a Scourgify.

_I don't care._

"You do," it whispered.  ** _Why else would you unconsciously leave them unclean when you were so fastidious at the start of the year? Perhaps… I make you feel filthy and this is simply how it comes out._**

Holding fast to his warm center, the cold tendrils couldn't touch him.

Harry's hand re-holstered his wand.  ** _You're resisting your basest nature. For what? Social mores that are irrelevant in this age. The only thing that matters in this world is power._**

It sounded like truth, but it felt all wrong. Might didn't make right.

The doors opened, and Harry's head swiveled to the entrance.

"You wished to speak to me, Harry?" Professor Dumbledore, followed by Wynch, came to a stop beside the bed Harry occupied.

"Yes, sorry. I wanted to tell you what I saw directly. I hope I didn't interrupt anything…"

"Nothing that wasn't superfluous." The headmaster stood by the bed, the perfect model of patience. "Cornelius Fudge wished to go over Hogwarts security measures again."

Harry's lips opened and closed, and then a heavy breath left his lungs.

"Take your time, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said gently.

"Professor…" The word rolled over Harry's tongue as if foreign, "Snape appeared before Lord Voldemort—" Wynch hissed at the name but Professor Dumbledore had a pleased look, "—and showed the Dark Mark on his forearm. After scolding him for waiting too long, he Crucio'd him."

Professor Dumbledore merely looked at Harry calmly as if he'd relayed the color of his robes to him.

"…You don't look surprised." Harry's lips frowned.  ** _Watch him, Harry. Understand that this is not a man you should inform at every opportunity._**

"I am not surprised because Severus informed me of his plans to return to Lord Voldemort."

The soul-shard retreated smugly, and Harry gaped. He looked at Wynch, who had obviously been trusted to know about Snape's true whereabouts. Speechless, Harry grabbed the glass of water and drank the rest of it. Then he took a deep breath. "You… let him  _back_  to Lord Vole's employ? You let him without knowing if he would live?"

The headmaster looked a bit weary. "It was Professor Snape's decision. He asked permission, and I could see no reason to delay the inevitable."

" _You_  agreed to let him be an active Death Eater again?!" Harry ground his jaw down before he began spewing insults, and then his lips came apart as a gasp was unleashed. " ** _Clever_**. You intend to use him as a spy."

The headmaster's blue gaze sharpened on Harry, as if by sensing the variance in Harry's behavior he could see who was really in charge.  ** _The old fool should know, but he's so blinded by his belief that love trumps all that he refuses to accept how this will end._**

"How could you possibly know that he wouldn't be murdered outright, let alone return to a trusted position that would provide information to your little band of loyal operatives?" The soul-shard's grip held fast, keeping Harry's will and intense curiosity pinned.  _Band of operatives?_ Harry echoed.

**_Watch._ **

The old wizard's clear eyes were unreadable beyond general fatigue. "That is a matter between Severus and myself." When Harry's eyes remained fixed on his, Professor Dumbledore smiled, unfazed. "Now, I must ask you not to speak of the knowledge you hold to anyone, Harry. They are very important secrets."

"But I cannot lie to the members of my house, even if I were coerced to," he said bitingly.

The headmaster's golden spectacles glinted in the sunlight as he nodded with a broad smile. "But I have been told that you can decline to answer or mislead by omission if you so choose."

"Fine," Harry's lips uttered to his bedcovers, his eyes finally dropping from the old wizard. In the sulkiest tone was muttered, "You don't care about my safety at all."

Professor Dumbledore paused for a long moment. "Harry, I have done everything in my power to protect you."

Harry's upper lip curled. "I don't think letting an active Death Eater remain as Head of House and as a professor or allowing such a person brew potions extensively for general consumption sounds very protective." His eyes looked hesitantly at the headmaster. "Unless you wished to use me as bait."

After one slow nod, Professor Dumbledore unknotted something from his belt. "All fair points. Which is precisely why I feel that it is time to return your cloak and dagger to you."

"What?" The dismayed soul-shard loosened its grip, and Harry greedily shoved it out of the way and held a hand out for his green pouch.

"I feel it is too risky to leave you without the protection they might offer when so many Lionsnakes have perished." He set the pouch into Harry's palm. "I trust that you learned from your past mistakes."

After checking its contents, Harry clutched it to his chest. Relief was predominant. "Thank you, sir."

"Best of luck with the Third Task. I expect great things from you," The headmaster winked enigmatically and exited.

The sound of his departing footsteps thudded inside Harry's head. There was marked confusion within Harry that didn't belong to him. The bit of Voldemort's soul was wrapped up in turmoil; Harry could feel the intense incomprehension as it grappled with the idea of his sworn enemy handing over such powerful magical items to use at Harry's discretion. Furthermore, Snape could not be trusted. Why didn't the headmaster realize that?  ** _What is your game, old fool?_**

The Head Boy stepped forward. Concern oozed from every pore. "Harry?"

"Do  _you_  trust Snape?"

Wynch offered him a contemplative look. "I find no reason to trust or distrust him in regards to my personal safety. For your sake, however, I don't quite. He hasn't done anything concrete to compromise your safety. I know he's done loads in  _securing_  it. With the current situation though… Well, I haven't told him anything that's passed between us after the blood fealty and I have no intention of doing so unless specifically requested by you."

"But what if he's ordered to kidnap you to get to me?" Harry persisted. "I think that your personal safety would be compromised then, wouldn't it?"

"In a month or so, you won't have to worry since I will have graduated."

Harry frowned darkly at him. "And until then?"

Wynch's brown eyes softened. "Sorry. I understand your concern, but it's needless." When Harry scoffed, his housemate raised his hands. "Really, it is. Professor Snape has been my ally ever since I arrived. He protected me when no one else did. He arranged a place for me to stay over the summer when he learned that my parents disowned me and helped me procure a Novice License in Potions so I can at least earn a modest living if my books are a dead duck."

This new development with the Potions Master was not what Harry termed a good thing, but he should have expected it with the way Snape had treated him during Potions ever since he entered Hogwarts. Had it been planned all along?

"I will speak with my landlord about securing my rooms," Wynch said. "I'm moving into a place in Hogsmeade, since I wish to be available to you while you finish schooling." He smiled at this. "Now, if you could call me Merv or Mervyn I'd be much happier."

"Why are you so insistent?"

"I … well, I prefer my first name since I'm dead to my family."

Harry had the sudden thought of being called  _Dursley_ and inwardly balked. " _Ah._  Sorry, Mervyn."

He was rewarded with a large grin of straight, slightly yellow teeth. "All is forgiven."

And that was that.

* * *

Everyone seemed to be preparing for the exams that would occur during the week before the Third Task. Mervyn informed Harry that Snape had set up special sessions for the exams that the Salem Institute champion would have missed on the morning of the Third Task due to a special event.

"But champions aren't supposed to have to take the exams!" Harry threw his book down. "Merlin, what does  _he_  care about my progress at Hogwarts? I'm walking dead at this rate."

Mervyn's expression darkened at the morbid words. "I don't make the rules; I just enforce them."

Harry sighed noisily.

The second ambush, incidentally, came without warning while Harry was moving through the corridors right by the greenhouses after Double Herbology class. As a matter of serendipity, Harry had been tipped off when someone had been a bit trigger-happy and the spell missed him by several feet.

Dodging into a niche, Harry immediately pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his Spellfast one, watching the scores of Slytherins fill the corridor. His mind whirred restlessly of the endless ways to incapacitate large numbers of them.

 ** _Divide and conquer should be easy enough for you_** **,**  the voice said smugly.

There was no telling how many people were out and about. Again, Harry wished that Lupin hadn't confiscated his Marauder's Map.

"What are you doing? Stop immediately!" Professor Sprout yelled down the corridor, but then fell silent.

"You Stunned her!" Someone yelled fearfully.

"She'll be fine. We can use a Revive Charm on her," Yaxley said lazily, "Spread out! He's hiding somewhere."

 _Bugger, when did Yaxley get back?_  Harry had wrongly assumed there would be an announcement about his miraculous recovery. No doubt he'd use this excursion as payback. He slipped into an unused classroom, the same that had been used for the Weighing of the Wands.

In the darkness, Harry waited until a group of five came into the room with their wands drawn, each bright with an illuminating spell. He shut the door with a soft tap of his foot and when they spun around to check who'd done that Harry slipped unnoticed behind them. " _Relashio!_ "

At once they dropped their wands simultaneously, and then  _"Immobulus!"_  and they were frozen.  _Hmm._ Harry had only tried it out of habit, but it would appear that there hadn't been enough Anti-Freezing amulets to go around.  ** _Or they were made improperly. Do not be so hasty to underestimate them._**

Very carefully, Harry collected their wands and opened the door again without revealing that he was wearing an Invisibility Cloak. Let them think that he was that good at disillusioning himself, he thought as he pulled the cloak back on.

It wasn't long before ten more poured in after they saw the others frozen in place. It was simply too easy to use a Revulsion Jinx upon them and then a Freezing Charm immediately after. He quickly Stunned the four who hadn't froze in place. Harry thought that plucking the wands up off the ground was a little like picking up litter that blew into the Dursley yard… except this was loads more fun.

After collecting the wands, he left the dark room and closed the door. He pointed at the lock, " _Colloportus_." Then he went for a stroll until he found another dimly lit niche. He heard the sound of several feet pounding towards him down the adjoining corridors. He almost wished he had his broom to even the odds.

Jets of magic flew through the air, filling the corridor Harry was in. He ducked to the floor and, when they aimed there, he rolled and hugged the side-wall.

"He's got to be here. Wynch said he was!"

 _Mervyn_ , Harry mentally growled. Perhaps he was one of the strategists.

 _"Relashio!"_ There was a rain of wands and startled oaths and cries and then Harry cast, " _Immobulus!_ " Nobody froze this time, so he was stuck wasting his time with Stupefy. There was instant chaos, since most had been all frantically looking towards the ground for their wands. Screaming followed, but no one seemed to know where he was as they blindly threw spells. He picked off the calmest of the lot, dodging and jumping and whirling out of the way depending on the Alerting gong of his Spellfast cloak. It became smooth and automatic, like breathing, and so easy.

Hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, the Spellfast absorbed the hits he ran into or couldn't escape, and sparks showered down his feet. Nobody really took notice though because the only students left were first, second, and third years running away, screaming their heads off, but he casually set Stunning Spells at their back too and winced when several tripped and cracked their heads or chins on the stone. Feeling guilty, he checked them to see if they were still breathing. They were, though they'd probably need a Head Soother when they were woken. None of their jaws looked broken either, so that was a relief.

The corridor now silent and eerily filled with bodies from one end to the other, Harry shoved the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket. Judging by the number of them, he assumed that most of his house had turned out for this venture, but saw only five of his yearmates, none of them very good duelists. Suspicious, he scooped the wands up, one-by-one, and placed them into his pouch. He had only just picked up the last two when he heard the gong of a spell flashing his way.

He allowed the cloak to deflect and absorb it and then turned his wand upon the back-shooter. " _Impedimenta!_ " Third-year Astoria Greengrass stumbled to the ground, her wand flying out of her hand. " _Locomotor Wibbly!"_ He pointed at one of her associates, Lucretia Moss, still running down the hall.

Harry picked up Astoria's wand as the Jelly-Legs Curse hit Moss and sent her flopping to the floor. He jogged towards her. He was reaching to pick up Moss' wand when the Alerting spell on his Spellfast cloak went off numerous times. Harry's arm was hit and it locked up like mannequin's. He withdrew his arm and ran backwards from his Disillusioned housemates that he hadn't noticed. He threw caution to the wind, running down the corridor and jumped into the nearest classroom, slamming the door shut, " _Colloportus, Colloportus, Colloportus, Colloportus, Colloportus_ ," He cast as quickly as he could, and then waved his wand over his stiff arm, but a general Cancelling Spell didn't work, telling him it was an Advanced Dark spell.

THUD. Whoever was outside attempted to open the door and found it locked. Harry yanked out his Invisibility Cloak and spun around, putting it on one-handed as he heard the Unlocking Spell that would undo the Magical locks.

He kicked over some tables like a barricade. He then cast, " _Maxima_   _Colloshoo!"_  over the floor's surface. Yellowish white substance gushed out of the tip of his wand, splattering onto the floor, and he aimed it back and forth as he backed against the wall. _"Finite Incantatem_ ," he whispered to stop the sticky flow and then waited on the other side of the locked door.

With one last " _Alohomora!"_ the door slammed open, bouncing against the wall and they poured in, charging the upended tables.

Unfortunately, they found they were stuck fast to the ground. Before the four figures of various heights could figure it out, Harry had already cried out,  _"Immobulus!"_  Surprisingly, it worked. He removed his Invisibility Cloak and then canceled the Stickfast Hex that he'd used on the floor. Then he proceeded to pluck every one of their wands from their hands.

"Have fun," he told them and shut the door on them. Outside, he nearly stepped on Moss who had dragged herself over to the doorway. She yelped and then frantically dug into her robes before thrusting her wand at him. Harry took it from her. "Thank you," and then cancelled the harmless curse he'd placed on her.

Somebody… well several somebodies cleared their throats at him as he helped her to stand.

Professors Sprout and McGonagall were glaring at him. Behind them were all the Slytherins he'd immobilized in the other classroom and corridor.

"Er," he said sheepishly.

Professor McGonagall let out a gasp when Astoria opened the door behind Harry. The Deputy Headmistress stepped forward to stare into the room. "Oh my word, you  _immobilized_ —"

"Professor, it was a training drill—"

"I don't want to hear it! One hundred-fifty points from Slytherin!"

That was an outrageous amount of points! Harry couldn't figure out why the soul-shard was laughing hysterically in his head. "—but professor, I can undo it all!"

" _Enough,_ Potter! Professor Sprout will undo this mess, bring any of the injured students to the hospital wing, and apologize to our guests for your absolute audacity of disabling Aurors!"

Harry dropped his mouth open and turned to see that,  _yes_ , there was Proudfoot, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Savage frozen in place.  ** _Lucky that you did a harmless prank and hadn't slaughtered the bumbling fools._**

He didn't think it was  _fair_  to call them idiots when they weren't supposed to do anything lethal in a place with a bunch of minors.

The Transfigurations professor grabbed him by the ear, snatching him from his thoughts.

"Hey!"

"We are going  _straight_  to your Head of House!"

 _Bollocks._ Harry had purposefully avoided the bastard outside of class ever since Voldemort had shoved that scene into Harry's mind. Harry was yanked by his ear downstairs into the Dungeon's main corridor. "Professor, ow!"

"Of all the—I can't believe—I would have expected Severus to nip your rule-breaking in the bud!" Her fast pace didn't slow any as Harry's awkwardly angled head followed her hand. He'd been led around his ear many times in his youth, but he felt like he actually deserved it here. At least, she hadn't twisted it to incur as much pain as possible like the Dursleys had. For all her sternness, she was too kind to do so.

It took hardly any time before Professor McGonagall released his ear and rapped sharply on the Potions lab door. As Harry rubbed feeling back into the sore ear, the Deputy Headmistress shoved the door open, interrupting Snape's lecture to third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. "Excuse me, Professor Snape, I have a situation that requires your  _immediate_  attention."

"Of course, Minerva." He scowled at the third years. "You will begin your essays on the properties of Flobberworm Ooze and their usefulness in potions. Now. And Lovegood, you will get another Dreadful if you write anymore Quibbler quackery!"

There wasn't even the slightest bit of grumbling as they settled into peaceful work.

The Potions master left the door to the classroom open as he stepped towards them. A disdainful noise escaped the sallow-faced wizard with a glower down his nose, "Of course it would be far too much to hope for a single month without an incident with you, Potter."

He glared, but kept his mind as Occluded as he could. He must've been successful because Snape turned to McGonagall and sneered, "What has the boy done now?"

"Mr. Potter has only Immobilized or Stunned a large number of students, in addition to the four Aurors he stuck to the floor. I've deducted a hundred-fifty points from Slytherin."

Harry held up his pouch. "And I took all their wands."

"You did?" Professor McGonagall's right nostril twitched in a way Harry had never seen it do before. Her face was growing red with increasing wrath. "Decided to make trophies of Auror wands, Mr. Potter?"

Low murmuring from the Potions classroom exuded into the hallway. "No, Professor McGonagall. I thought they were Slytherins." Harry tried to maintain a solemn expression lest his Transfigurations professor think he wasn't taking her seriously, but she seemed rather riled by his calm instead of satisfied.

Her anger seemed to recede, though her eyes were brittle and harsh. "There are no  _dwarves_  in Slytherin, Mr. Potter!"

Snape let out an irritated huff. "Lamentably, Minerva, I suspect that beyond the unfortunate Aurors, all of the 'victims' are  _willing_  members of my own house."

"Severus," the Transfigurations professor said sharply, "I cannot allow this sort of behavior to continue! I have already deducted twenty points from Cameron Boyle for Stunning Professor Sprout  _and_ assigned him a week's worth of detention." She did not shout, though her voice was steadily increasing.

"Potter will have detention for the remaining month. I, however, doubt this will have any effect, seeing as how the entire house has become enthusiastically involved in this ill-advised endeavor of…  _training_ Potter for the Final Task. I assume they do not want to see him perish due to lack of preparation."

Professor McGonagall appeared to be at a loss as to what to say, but she came to some decision, her matronly attitude coming to the fore. "A noble cause, but the method your students have chosen is inappropriate in a school setting, let alone when we have visitors in our midst."

"Er. I want to say I'm sorry to have distressed you, Professor McGonagall, and that one of my housemates Stunned a teacher." Harry decided it was a good time to reveal the Dark Spell on his arm when the old witch nodded without a severe look. "Er. My arm got hit by a curse I've never seen before, professor. Could you help me undo it?" Harry revealed his other arm that he'd kept hidden beneath his cloak.

"Is that the  _only_  curse you were hit with?" Professor McGonagall said with slight astonishment to her tone.

Shifting in place to shove the pride at the accomplishment down, Harry looked at the ground. "Should I have allowed them a handicap to even the odds?"

"Of course not, you brainless dolt." Harry glanced up, and Snape raised an eyebrow. "How many?"

"Well…" Harry was about to make a rough estimate when the rest of his house chose that moment to stop hiding just around the corner.

"It was our plan, Professor McGonagall." "Harry didn't know when he was going to get attacked." "Nobody was hurt!" "We were only Immobilized or Stunned" "For Area Effects, he used two Revulsion Jinxes, six Locking Spells, three Freezing Charms, and a maxed-out Stickfast Hex. Also, thirty-seven Stunning Spells, a Jelly-Legs Curse and an Impediment Curse. It was  _brilliant_  work."

Harry tried not to preen especially since Professor McGonagall had gone back to her severe expression. The excited whispering from the Potions lab probably didn't help with that.

"How did you stay hidden?" Qynne asked eagerly. "We cast magic so you couldn't Disillusion yourself without wearing the proper talismans!"

"You think I'm going to tell  _you_?" Harry laughed.

The Transfigurations professor raised her hands up to halt the onslaught of questions peppering Harry. "Next time, keep it to the Slytherin House and  _not_  during class. Once you've retrieved your wands, third years go to your History of Magic class with Professor Binns."

Harry grinned, when they groaned and moaned about how boring it was.

"But professor how are we going to  _surprise_  him there?" Yaxley asked. His smile set Harry's skin crawling. Several others murmured the same.

She raised her hand again for silence. "I believe Mr. Potter is well prepared for the Third Task if he managed to take out sixty-nine—"

"Sixty-four," a Disillusioned Mervyn said. With a wave of his wand, the Disillusionment melted away in sickening swirl of dark colors, revealing Sally-Anne, Theodore, Daphne, Draco, and himself. "You let your guard down after you thought you'd gotten us all." He grinned broadly and nodded towards Harry's year-mates, twirling his reddish-brown wand between his fingers. Sally-Anne and Theodore had matching grins, Draco looked disappointed. "Shame that we were interrupted," Daphne said, her arms crossed.

"Miss Greengrass," Professor McGonagall said sternly.

"Thank you for putting a stop to it, professor." Daphne spoke diplomatically, though she didn't put effort into looking grateful. "Especially when those Aurors got caught in the mix."

Scoffing, Professor McGonagall turned to the Potions Master. "Severus, your House will be disqualified from winning the House Cup should they attempt this again. Another attack on a professor of Hogwarts, an Auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or foreign dignitary will be met with swift punishment and possible expulsion."

"I will ensure they understand the consequences." Snape's eyes swept across them, but completely lacked the heat that usually overtook them when he dealt with disobedient children. She gave him a disapproving frown.

"My warning stands. To all of you!" After hearing them acknowledge that they understood, Professor McGonagall stalked away. The Slytherins watched her until she disappeared around the corner at the end of the main corridor.

"What about my arm?" Harry asked sweetly.

"I'm sure you'll find someone that knows the counter, Potter." Snape's eyes were gleaming with amusement as he turned to the gathered members of his house. "Next time Potter returns to me triumphant, the owner of every wand he has taken will be assisting me with preparing ingredients for my summer brewing," he drawled nastily, obviously enjoying the thought of slave labor. "Learn how to organize and strategize in a way that isn't so predictable that a Muggle-raised wizard can see straight through it."

Eyeing the four adults who stood outside the snarl of Vipers, Professor Snape turned to Harry with a drawling tone, "You will personally return the wands to the Aurors, if you haven't already. Give  _all_  of the remaining wands back to your brothers and sisters. They are not to be taken hostage for taking you too lightly in a training exercise." With a swirl of his robes, he re-entered his classroom, snarling, "Get back to work!" at the distracted Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and slammed the door behind him.

Quiet fell over them as they waited to see what Harry would do. He grinned and held up his arm. "Who knows how to fix this?"

"Allow me!" A woman's voice rang from the back of the crowd.

"Come forward to retrieve your boomstick." That earned several laughs from the Slytherins. Chuckling, Auror Tonks pushed through, and Harry lifted his Spellfast cloak away with his unaffected arm. "It's in the pouch, if you could open it for me."

With a grin, she took unknotted it from his belt, holding it open. "You're more slippery than a barrel of eels."

"Hah. What's your wand look like?" He asked.

"It's Mahogany with a knob at the end, ten and three-quarters with a Phoenix feather core," she said proudly.

Concentrating on its traits, he pointed his wand into his pouch, " _Accio_ wand." A dark red-colored wand popped out end-first. The pink-haired witch took it out, inspecting it, and apparently finding no issues with it then pointed it at Harry's arm, which he could no longer raise since the shoulder had locked in place.

The counter-curse required three long incantations and a wand movement. When she was done, Harry wiggled his tingly fingers. "What's that curse called?"

"The Midas Touch, so named because it spreads by direct skin contact. You were smart not to touch it with your other hand," the Auror said as she passed the open pouch to Harry's now-working hand.

"Mind getting mine next?" The tall, broad-shouldered wizard in colorful robes didn't look the slightest bit put-off that Harry had helped Tonks first.

"Sure, Auror Shacklebolt," Harry said respectfully to the Head of the Aurors.

"Cedar with dragon heartstring, eleven-and-a-half inches."

When Harry summoned it, it too popped out, end first. Shacklebolt pulled it out of the pouch, and smoothly re-holstered it as he stepped aside for Savage and Proudfoot.

"Blackwood with dragon heartstring, eight-and-a-quarter inches." After summoning it, he lowered the bag so Savage could retake her wand comfortably.

When Harry turned to Proudfoot, he didn't take the sour look on her scarred face personally. When the expected description didn't come, Harry looked at her curiously. "Auror Proudfoot?"

She unclenched her jaw to say, "In a fight against Death Eaters, you'd be dead meat. I wouldn't give you thirty seconds if they were serious about offing you."

Hair gone purple, Auror Tonks tapped a fist against Proudfoot's shoulder. "Lay off. He's not even of age yet."

Tonks' hand was knocked away, and the furious Auror stepped into her space. "You know as well as I that the brilliant ones burn out faster like a bloody supernova," she snarled and then shoved through the Slytherins—the ones who hadn't backed out of her way. Aurors Shacklebolt and Savage quickly followed her to the staircase.

"It's twelve inches, Laurel with Unicorn hair." Harry summoned Proudfoot's wand and handed it to Tonks.

Instead of taking it, the now black-haired Auror placed a hand on Harry's. "Don't think badly of her. You don't get to be a first-class Auror without having a partner die at some point." The Auror flashed a sad smile and then jogged to catch up with the others, who had just begun to ascend the staircase.

Harry looked down at his empty hand, still warm from the touch. He was surprised that he wasn't annoyed that she'd done it so casually.

"Harry! Can I have my wand back first? Can I, can I, can I?" Creevey beseeched with wide, brown eyes. "I'll beg even."

The Salem Institute champion snorted. "Third years first." In the tawdriest tone he could muster, he intoned, "Astoria Greengrass!" Harry called out and the third year stepped up shyly to receive her ebony wand. He called each of the third years forward, knowing they had missed a lot of Professor Binns class and then told them to get to class. Sometimes, Harry had to ask them what their wand looked like before he could summon them. Next he did the seventh years, and then the sixth years—Harry asked Warrington and Bletchley if they would do reconnaissance work with him over the hedges. Bletchley confessed that they already had a map drawn up and they had been monitoring the maze to see if it had changed any, so the answer had been an unequivocal no. Predictably, Boyle gave him stink-eye as Harry summoned the short Ash wand. And down the years he went.

" _Accio_ wand!" Harry pointed his wand at the pouch, and Mafalda Jurgens happily took it from his hand and stepped off with it towards the Slytherin common room after the other fifth years. Yaxley had accepted his with a respectful nod, though Kartik was glaring over his shoulder.

Crabbe was in line, Pansy right behind him, Bulstrode, and Goyle after them.

After Harry finally finished passing out the wands, he was exhausted from the chatting he'd done. Summoning sixty-seven—four for Aurors and sixty-three for Slytherins— wands correctly was no easy task; his mind was taxed. He was glad to simply reach into the pouch and grab the last one to give to Dennis Creevey, who after being denied being first, had opted to be the very last one in line. Tightening the drawstring, Harry tied the pouch back onto his belt and holstered his wand.

"Your Grace, it's lunchtime!" Sally-Anne said taking his hand and pulled him down the corridor.

"Hey! Don't hog him!" Theodore said on the other side, grabbing Harry's other hand.

Harry was lightly tugged all the way to the Great Hall between his best friends and trailed by Dennis Creevey who took it all in with wide eyes.

* * *

Sirius was sending daily owls now. He apparently didn't like being ignored. Harry had steadfastly refused to return any owls. In every letter, he reminded Harry that whatever might be going on outside the walls of Hogwarts was not his responsibility. Harry did not particularly care for the bossy tone or that he was supposed to just sit on his thumbs where Voldemort was concerned.

In the next letter, Sirius wrote:

**_Dear Harry,_ **

**_I know I've been overbearing from the start and I apologize for my nagging. My priority is to ensure your safety. Please concentrate on getting through the maze safely, and then we can turn our attention to other matters. I've reinstated permission for you to go to Hogsmeade whenever a visit is planned, and I trust you won't go wondering off where you shouldn't be. I would rather you didn't take any more risks. However, I admit that I cannot force you to do anything. Use that sensible head on your shoulders and stay safe._ **

**_With affection,_ **

**_Sirius Black_ **

"Well that's a sight better than the other ones," Harry muttered.

Sally-Anne peered over his shoulder and after reading it gave Harry a bemused look.

"I thought it was strange too," Harry said to her. It was too bad that Theodore was gone again. He might provide better advice on exactly what was passing through Sirius' head. He wondered what Sirius meant by 'other matters'. Did he mean to help Harry in his fight with Voldemort?

"He must have gotten the most recent evaluation on you," Draco murmured, and Harry sent the letter up in flames with an Ever-Burning Jinx.

"Oh."

"That explains it perfectly," Sally-Anne said.

Draco lifted a pale eyebrow plainly communicating a condescending 'but of course it does', but he said nothing more as he turned to his food.

That very evening Harry penned a reply, bringing up the subject of the Marauder's Map again. He labeled the envelope and sealed it with wax. Sally-Anne was in the common room reading, when Harry went downstairs. She easily agreed to go to the warm, smelly owlery with him.

Once they arrived, Harry picked out Hedwig fairly easily among all the brown and grey owls. "Hedwig, Please take this to my godfather. He's been waiting for it for weeks."

Hedwig gave him a scolding hoot, took the letter from his hands, and dove out the nearest window, before Harry could thank her. He scratched the back of his neck.

"I don't think she approves that you've been ignoring your godfather," Sally-Anne said while Harry looked out over Hogwarts grounds.

"Probably not," Harry agreed.


	18. A Gamble of Gambits

As June Fourth approached, Harry's nerves mounted. It had nothing to do with the final task, the Third Task, and all to do with Voldemort's likeliest plan to collect his blood. That was what it boiled down to. The simplest way obviously wouldn't do for whatever reason; otherwise Crouch Jr. would have gathered some during or after an ill-timed injury that just so happened to sever a major vein or artery and then been on his way.

 _The resurrection ritual must require extremely fresh blood for high potency. Why else wouldn't an accident already been staged?_ Harry mused, during one of his many potions detentions. The Distance Learning packets weren't coming any longer; he had received a flashy certificate saying that he completed that year's workload for the classes he was enrolled in and that grades would arrive mid-June after he completed the final exams. He did, however, receive a hefty study guide for each course's final, a somewhat baffling bonus which he supposed were to substitute a teacher's lecture on the exams.

"Potter, stop daydreaming before you blow a hand off." The Potions Master's sharp words were muffled in the windowless brewing laboratory.

Harry blinked once at the gleaming blue potion he was stirring and then grinned sheepishly at the greasy-haired specialist, even though it wouldn't be seen, covered as it was by the black fabric Harry had to wear over his nose and mouth. The anger he felt at the wizard for attempted martyrdom had evaporated weeks ago, leaving Harry with the same mixed feelings he'd had since the hippogriff attack. "Sorry, sir." The black gaze turned away, and Harry's mind was firmly on the potion once again. He quickly checked the temperature to determine that no, he didn't yet need to add the poppy seeds and that the potion was still within acceptable margins.

When Snape remained where he was tending to his own batch of high-maintenance potions, Harry smothered a sigh of relief. Switching hands again as he blended the capricious potion, he shifted in the non-magically tailored Potion robes he'd had to change into, which covered every inch of skin from his neck down. It was hot and stifling but was made from the hide of some magical creature which resisted the effects of most potions hazards, like acids that could eat through flesh and bone in mere seconds or the light from flash-fires which could fry nerves and retinas and dissolve skin in the blink of an eye. Unwittingly, Harry had been shuttled into this Potions anteroom after passing through two heavily warded passageways for an entirely unexpected and exciting series of Potions detentions.

Of course, it had been quickly explained to Harry that he would be working with hazardous potions ingredients and potions. Additionally, it was stressed that he should count himself lucky, since only select NEWT-level students were typically invited into this secluded room. "If you fail to make yourself useful here," Snape had added with a nasal maliciousness, "You will be scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of your pitiful residency at Hogwarts."

At first, Harry played a very boring role as a Master's assistant, hovering and listening as Snape began a dangerous brew that would need careful watch during the first few hours of its creation. After a few days Harry showed that he was perfectly able to recite emergency protocols in regards to potions spills and accidents; it was then that the Potions Master had staged a potions crisis without forewarning. Ruddy bastard had seemed delighted that Harry reacted calmly and performed well under pressure to the, in all probability, lethal mock-scenario that would have sent many wizards twice his age running to the hills and undoubtedly put the rest of the school at risk. No doubt Harry's bravery in the face of assured self-destruction had been one of the reasons that the Sorting Hat had originally ruminated on Gryffindor.

As some sort of twisted reward, Snape assigned him this highly valuable, Restricted potion. At many turns, it would suddenly threaten to combust for no reason at all. For the past month, Harry had been tasked to cultivate and nurture it along because the sickly sweet-smelling brew acted more alive than inanimate, hopping up out of the cauldron to splash back down at the drop of a hat. Without the special half-mask that caught the fumes wafting from it, Harry no doubt would have been trapped in a delirium of invulnerability from the amount of hallucinogens and stimulants he had added to it so far. The designated reference texts often referred to this particular brew as directed chaos, liquefied, which was why the most potent of these potions were brewed in harmony with a harvest moon that also landed on a blue moon.

Its name was  _Felix Felicis,_ and it was designed specifically to skew the drinker's luck for the better by compelling the drinker to take intuitive leaps of judgment and illogical risks that no sane person would. Interestingly enough, many believed it tapped into a magical person's innate Divination potential. Others discounted that theory due to its nearly identical effects on Squibs, who lacked the magical channeling required for the Divination Arts to manifest. Whichever way it worked, as time passed the neon blue sheen had slowly faded to a more silvery shade as the full moon neared closer, and the potion slowly simmered down to far less liquid than the gallon it began as.

Harry's left hand informed him with a steadily rising ache that it was absolutely done with the nonsense of stirring for hours at a time. He had already switched hands several times already to avoid an oncoming cramp. Fortunately, the timer he set flashed red once, and he paused to add the proper amount of poppy seed with his free hand. Sadly, his grip on the stirring rod must've been too tight as it snapped and splintered in his palm. He blinked in confusion when it didn't hurt as much as it should have, immediately pulling the bloodied rod out of the potion and replacing it with a new one with his other hand.

Mixing lazily, he opened the palm of his left hand to inspect the damage, since it stung. Blood oozed sluggishly from the edges of brilliant green scales, which glittered beneath shards of glass. Most of the slivers of glass fell harmlessly onto the counter. Some were seated around the small patch of scales, causing the discomfort and pain.

 _Diana's blessing,_  Harry thought, tilting his hand to inspect the scales more closely while he stirred with his right hand. It was the first time he'd activated the blessing Rah I'atrr had given him.

A hiss interrupted Harry's inspection and he was shoved away from the potion. A thick-gloved hand lifted the cauldron by its handle, pushing it into the Stasis Cupboard behind them, where Harry stored it when he had to leave. After the thick cupboard door was slammed shut, a bucket of neutralizing agent was pulled out from under the counter, and Harry's hand was thrust into it by a furious Snape.

"Did you spill any on yourself, you fool boy?"

Harry blinked at him dumbly. "No, but I think the batch is contaminated. Broke the stirring—"

"Forget the potion," the Potions Master, who was already by his own highly volatile potions again, snapped over his shoulder. His face contorted beneath the black fabric of the mask into a sneer. "Use a full dose of Splinter Remover on the wound before you wrap it. You are to see Madam Pomfrey after you've changed."

Taking that as dismissal, Harry pulled his hand from the bucket and went to the wooden medical kit adhered to the wall. He opened it, taking out the desired vial, and took a few steps to the right to get to the sink. Popping off the cork, he poured four drops around the patch of scales and watched as the slivers wriggled and pulled themselves out. With a vaguely disturbed sensation, the scales rippled and then pulled below the skin flowing, more or less, to settle on the wrong wrist. The glimmering, green shield reappeared. Wondering if it was normal for it to move to locations when there was an injury, Harry corked the vial and put it away. He rinsed the injured hand to remove any glass and wrapped it loosely with gauze.

Finished with that task, Harry turned before he exited through the first set of wards. "I should've said something when I found I couldn't focus. I'll be back tomorrow evening, if I'm allowed," he said quietly to a black-robed back.

There was a distinct scoff from the professor. "If you find yourself in the same mindset, do us all a favor and stay out."

"Yes, sir." Harry exited. Once in the next room, which was really more like a closet, he gingerly disrobed with his one working hand, tossing it into the hamper sitting against the opposite wall. He then slipped his pin-striped outer robes off the hanger adjacent to the long rack holding Potions robes identical to the one he'd taken off and put it on. It took a bit of work for him to button it up one-handed, but he managed and slung the Spellfast cloak over his shoulders, clasping it at the front. With one last look over his shoulder at the thick, ornately carved door leading to the anteroom, Harry left the silent coat room to make his way to the infirmary.

On his walk, his mind went back to Voldemort's plan. Nobody in Slytherin had yet discovered who Crouch Jr. had Polyjuiced himself as. They had ruled out all the other students using a variety of methods now that their Secret Sensors weren't breaking as often.

Several of the adults drank something every hour like clockwork when they were around the students and the list included Professor Sprout, High Master Karkaroff, Ms. Oke, Professor Trelawney, Professor Babbling, Professor Burbage, and Madam Maxime. The Muggle Studies teacher and the Divinations instructor were doubtful since they weren't involved in the tournament nor did they have regular contact with Harry. And he already knew that Karkaroff couldn't be the faithful servant… Which still left four staff members. One of them was using Polyjuice Potion, and they only had days left to find out who it was with exams right on top of them.

Heading into the infirmary, Harry found Seamus Finnigan seated next to an unconscious Gryffindor, who once helped Finnigan with the dementor prank. Harry calmly waited by an unoccupied bed, eavesdropping since he had nothing better to do. They really ought to have put up a ward if they didn't want anyone to hear, or at least spoke more quietly.

"Will he be alright?" Finnigan asked.

"Yes, the poor dear's under an Enchantment," Madam Pomfrey said gently, "but the potions I've given him should work to undo it."

"It's me own fault," he said gruffly, "If he hadn't jumped in the way of those bloody Yanks—"

"Language, Mr. Finnigan," the Hogwarts Healer said with a stern look. "He will recover. It may take all night, so I want you to go and get some rest of your own. I will watch him."

"If I had kept me mouth shut, Dean wouldn't be here," came the strained tone. "Please. Can I stay here?"

Madam Pomfrey let out a small sigh. "Very well. If you get tired, you may use the next bed over."

Relief was evident in Finnigan's tone. "Thanks. I won't cause any trouble."

"I don't expect you will, dear." The witch turned and startled a bit when she saw Harry. "Oh, and what brings you in at this hour, Mr. Potter?" When he lifted the wrapped hand, she tutted. "You ought to be more careful." She gently cupped his arm, inspecting the wrapping.

"I crushed a stirring rod by accident during Potions detention," Harry answered as she unwrapped it.

"Ah. I see you've already used Splinter Remover," she said, taking note of the yellow stain on his palm. "Was that under Professor Snape's direction?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey."

She nodded. "Then we shouldn't have to worry about nasty reactions. This was a Potions accident in the Potioneer's Antechamber?"

"Yes, m'am."

"I'll need to keep you overnight for observation—Mind, I doubt you've toxified your veins with whatever dangerous potion you were brewing if you made it here under your own power, but I always like to play it safe considering the way your luck runs." The witch bustled to her medicine cabinet and withdrew a couple vessels of various sizes and more gauze. Harry watched her work efficiently as she opened a vessel of shiny fluid. "General antiseptic for the hand," she said and daubed it onto the scratches and punctures of his palm, and then rewrapped it. Uncorking the other, she offered him the other, "A simple De-toxifier. Drink every drop."

Taking the ampoule, Harry remembered brewing in bulk the black sludgy substance, whose primary ingredient was charcoal. It smelled of dank, dark cellars. Shrugging he drank it back and it tasted of earth and musky dirt, just as he thought it would.

Leading him to an open bed, she held out a phial of Dreamless Sleep draught with a stern look. "I expect that be taken before curfew."

"Thank you," Harry said, palming the cool glass of hated substance. He was really beginning to hate the smell of lavender oil.

"You're welcome, dear." She waved her wand to draw the blinds around his bed. He caught sight of Finnigan staring openly in his direction. "Rest up. You have a long week ahead of you yet."

Toeing out of his shoes, he laid back onto the bed. He listened to Madam Pomfrey walk back into her office and hoped the Gryffindor wouldn't decide that this was the perfect opportunity to—

" _Potter_ ," Finnigan's whisper rustled through the blinds.

Harry stifled a sigh. "Yes?" For the longest moment there wasn't anything else, and he thought that the Gryffindor had returned to his bed.

"Sorry," said the shadow.

That wasn't what the Slytherin had expected. He tried to recall something more recent than December, but nothing came to mind. "What for?"

Finnigan opened the blinds very quietly and shuffled in. He actually looked contrite for whatever he was apologizing for. "For laying into you about… about liking boys—I know you don't. But I thought you did, and it's—it's not a bad thing here. Nobody cares a lick about it. Dean was always saying that Malfoy was up to his usual ways on his lonesome. It's pathetic how he nicked some o' your hair to use." The Gryffindor shifted when Harry remained silent. "Most o' these purebloods think bein' a fairy means you're a clumsy fool who attracts bad luck." He chuckled roughly. "We—I was jealous that you went 'round doin' whatever you wanted. Me head was so far up me own arse that I couldn't see that you hadn't asked for any of it."

"You're forgiven," Harry said stiffly, staring at the Gryffindor. "I don't see the point in staying resentful over some pranks."

"Ye sure looked like ye did when the Weasley twins bloodied me up." Finnigan scratched his nose and then chuckled. "Guess I wouldn't've stopped them either, not when they get like that."

For a moment, Harry wondered if he'd gotten some of the Felix Felicis in his system. Gryffindors with a grudge didn't often go out of their way to make amends.

"Potter, why you didn't let the impostor have his way when he, y'know, turned me into a ferret?" The question was so quiet Harry had to strain to hear. When he deciphered them, Finnigan was speaking again. "The Hufflepuffs. They told me how you drew your wand on the fake Moody, how it distracted him long enough so I could escape."

"I would've done it for anyone," Harry lied. Sometimes diplomacy held better rewards than burning bridges. He had drawn his wand in self-defense against Finnigan; it had been the Lionsnakes which had stopped the impostor from doing more.

Finnigan seemed to fumble with something, but the dim light made it indistinct. "You're alright for a snake."

"What high praise," Harry drawled.

"I mean, if you were one o' us, we could've started off as friends. Not at each other's throats."

It's ironic, Harry pondered, that the thought of being Gryffindor was much less appealing than it once had been. Yet, he understood the sentiment for what it was meant; an admission that Finnigan had been blinded by House prejudice. "Thanks. What happened to your friend?"

"I ran me mouth off at a Salem Institute witch; she threw a spell at me. Dean got in the way." The Gryffindor breathed in deeply. "I'm nothin' but a cock-up. Me temper's always gettin' the best o' me."

An idea came to Harry. "You ever try to ground and center?"

"What the feck is that?"

"Ask Luna Lovegood about it. If you let her, she can help you too."

" _Loony_   _Luna_?" There was an extremely long pause, and the Gryffindor eyed him head to toe as if to visually assess him for some loss to his mental faculties. "What did she help you with? Excess of sanity?"

"Clearing out the Nargles and Wrackspurts," Harry said seriously.

"Right." Finnigan scoffed.

"They fill your mind with buzzing until you can't think straight. I bet your head's loaded with them."

"You're having me on."

"A bit," Harry admitted. "Think of it as a way to manage your temper. I did it, and now I don't break Draco's nose every time he says something infuriating."

Harry cracked a smile when Finnigan chuckled. "You bloodied his nose? I thought you were best mates."

"Hadn't even known him three days when it happened. He called my mum a  _Mudblood_."

"What a feckin' idiot." Finnigan exhaled loudly. "Alright. I'll ask Luna. If it does what you say it does, I guess I'll owe you one." He gestured at the phial on the table. "Shouldn't you have taken that draught by now?"

Harry lifted an eyebrow and then said slowly, "How do I know that you won't hex me as soon as I'm out?"

The Gryffindor snorted as Harry hoped he would. "If I wanted to hex ya, I already would've. Not very fair or decent to do somethin' like that."

"You had no difficulty luring me into a dark corridor last year," Harry pointed out.

"Thought you wouldn't hold a grudge?"

"Just because I won't doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to forget your previous behavior."

Sighing noisily, Finnigan held a hand up, palm out. "Fine." In his palm, there was a badge the size of a cuff link with something red and gold on it.

"What is it?"

Finnigan stepped forward just as Harry leaned forward. In the dim light, the vibrant colors turned into a lion which held a green symbol in its crushing maw; a triangle with a circle in it bisected by a vertical line. "If y'see this Potter, don't trust whoever has it, whatever they say. They'll be out for your blood."

Harry blinked at it. That was the symbol of Gellert Grindelwald in the lion's mouth. "That the badge for a member of the DWP?"

His potions classmate nodded curtly. Harry wondered if maybe he'd accidentally inhaled Liquid Luck fumes. Where else had the Gryffindor's sudden spate of generosity come from?

"Why tell me? You don't owe me anything," Harry said.

"The ferret incident wasn't all that the Hufflepuffs told me. They might've mentioned what you did for them. Told me why they're so loyal to you." He pocketed the cufflink. "It's no chip off me shoulder, since I've decided to quit the group." He rocked a bit on his heels and nibbled on his lower lip.

"You haven't yet left?"

"Look. It's a right nasty situation all 'round. I don't want to leave without taking Parvarti and Lavender with me, but Lavender…" Finnigan balanced on his heels and then rolled forward on his toes and back down. "She broke up with me. She feels I've betrayed the group by wanting ta leave. Thinks it's ta do with not being the Boss any longer and all with saving face. She thinks it's about pride. Won't believe a word about Yaxley; I'm worried she fancies him."

"I can't do anything about it," Harry said bluntly.

"I thought maybe, maybe you had some connections with other girls. Ones that could convince her to leave. She won't listen to sense from me, so it's got to come from someone else." Furious blue eyes met Harry's slightly confused green. "It's my cock-up that we made a feckin' rapist the Boss o' DWP, alright? Bought everything he said about you and your vendetta against people like us and we voted him in unanimously; didn't even look deeper into his story. Now, he's making changes left and right to do you in for good, preferably maimed beyond recognition. By the end o' it, he'll be a Dark Lord himself and everyone will fall in line blindly. Parvarti, at least, seems to be in agreement with me, but neither of us are up to dueling snuff. Not against the likes of Yaxley. He's already threatened punishment to deserters." Finnigan's fists tightened at his sides. "But I do know that he's terrified o' you and if he can't get you out he'll leave."

Throughout it all, Harry had listened patiently and then nodded. "I have someone in mind. I'll ask them to find a way to convince Brown. Have you notified the prefects about what's going on?"

"Most of the upper-year prefects have a real problem with anyone they believe are Dark Wizards or Witches and won't budge in their belief that you're vying to be one yourself. No one'll go against them, not when they see everyone as either for or against the Dark Arts."

"Bugger," Harry muttered. "So, you're saying they would counter any claims from the other prefects about problems afoot if Professor McGonagall was told?"

"Right. Wouldn't have bothered ta tell ye any o' this otherwise," Finnigan said pointedly.

Harry felt his face heat. "I'll do what I can, but I make no promises."

"That'll have to be good enough." The Gryffindor turned to the blinds. "Be careful, Potter."

"Thanks for the warning."

He nodded. "G'night, then."

"Night, Finnigan."

After the Gryffindor had passed out of sight, Harry drank back the potion and fell instantly asleep.

The next day was a semi-normal affair, as normal as it could be after Harry asked Daphne for a favor on Finnigan's behalf. She was so eager to prove herself worthy that Harry was half-worried about how she would call in the favor. However, if she succeeded getting Brown away from DWP in the remaining weeks of term, he would have no regrets.

As he and Sally-Anne were walking to the library, someone who was Disillusioned came dashing by them. At first Harry thought it might be some attack or training exercise and pulled Sally-Anne with him to a niche. When the running feet darted into a side-corridor, Harry's initial assumption failed. Clearly, the large-framed student was attempting to hide by squeezing behind a plinth holding a bust of a warty wizard and failing rather miserably.

Sally-Anne edged towards the student, who was too large to be anyone but an upper year. "What are you doing?" She asked, trying not to laugh.

"Don't let her find me," came the shaky response. Whoever it was sounded tired and out of breath. Sally-Anne exchanged a worried look with Harry.

"Let who find you?" Harry asked, right when Delacour's voice wafted down the corridor.

" 'Oo whooo," the champion crooned, "Oh, Ro-jer! 'Oo know I do not like theez hi-ding games!"

Harry immediately yanked his Invisibility Cloak out of his pouch and tossed it to the student. "Wrap that around you!" He hissed.

The faceless student did so, until neither Slytherin could see him.

"So, the Transfiguration essay won't be that hard at all," Harry said to Sally-Anne as he moved calmly towards the intersection.

Catching on, she walked with him. "You're right. I only need to research—"

"Ah, 'Arry! 'Ave 'oo seen Ro-jer?" Ignoring the plain Slytherin next to him, Fleur Delacour's cheekbones were rosy and her eyes bright with some emotion Harry couldn't name.

"Er, he went that way," Harry said pointing down the opposite corridor.

"Thanks!" The Beauxbatons champion shot him a bright smile and took a brisk pace down the wrong corridor. Once she had turned the corner, the Slytherins backtracked silently to the plinth.

"Are you alright?" Sally-Anne asked in the empty space they had left the student.

"I—thank you. You didn't have to." Harry's cloak was thrust towards him; he was surprised that the Disillusioned wizard hadn't run off with it. The tall student unfolded from his spot. "She won't leave me alone, and I can't think straight when she's around, and I don't really remember—not that it's any of your concern, of course—I really have to get going," Roger babbled, camouflaged hands brushing down his robes. "Sorry—look at me falling to pieces over the attentions of a beautiful witch," his voice cracked, edging with hysteria. "Should be happy about it."

Sally-Anne frowned.

"You sound rough," Harry said with all the subtlety of a Bludger as he put the cloak away, "When's the last time you slept?"

"Ah, ehm… Uh, three days ago?" The blob where the student's head was nodded. "I know I've reached the limit of safe dosage of Wideye Potion. But I can't sleep, not when she can get inside Ravenclaw Tower. She's too damn smart and quiet as a mouse, slips by everybody. Why did he have to tell her about the map? I'm nobody. Veela aren't supposed to be drawn to my type. She's gorgeous and I'm flattered, but I want her to go away. But she won't take no for an answer and rolls my mind over like a storm surge overturning a Spanish galleon." The words fell like acid rain, leaving patches of discomfort within the Slytherins.

Harry's best friend said slowly, "It's fine not to want her attentions. In fact, if she's compelling you to do something you don't want…"

Roger's Disillusioned shape waved his hands side to side at Sally-Anne's assertion, neither in denial or agreement. "You realize I'd spent  _so much time_  on that map—I wanted to publish it before I graduated—and-but my best friend tells her, and suddenly I'm her date at the ball, except I can't—I don't remember much of anything and I'm  _failing_  all of my classes and I've been  _absent_ far more than decent because I've become some sort of-of person that is simply there to please her. It's—I-I have my NEWTs next week—" He croaked, and the silence became so abrupt that it seemed to swallow everything. Harry was afraid to interrupt, when the Ravenclaw seemed to work to say more and nothing came out for several long moments. Then he said in a tiny voice, "What if she's pregnant? She might bring veela law to bear and make me her consort. I don't want to be her consort. I want to be left alone."

A ripple of surprise had gone through the two listening. Harry stared because the poor bloke was in such a state that he sounded near to tears. He remembered during the Yule Ball how odd it had been to see the thin Ravenclaw miss his mouth with his fork and how he was the only champion date not enjoying himself. To hear that Roger could hardly remember the past six months was alarming.

"Did you do a Loin Girding charm?" Harry asked without the judgmental tone he knew others might've used had they stumbled across him and ignored the affronted look shot by Sally-Anne.

"Yes, but I'd also had multiple Chastity spells on so I couldn't get to business. I couldn't afford to get distracted during my seventh year... But. I remember… in spurts. Things. Not clearly. Nothing's clear." Roger's hands came up as if he had a sudden headache. "Merlin, what have I been doing with myself?"

"You should report her to your Head of House," Sally-Anne said with a tone that brooked no argument. "Delacour can rein in her veela charm better than that, and it's not right that she's pursued you when you haven't wanted any of it."

"It won't work," he choked out. "I've tried everything." The Disillusionment flickered, strained by accidental magic. "Everyone insists that I do. That I should be grateful for it. That since I could—since I was able to—that it means that. That I, that I—well, wanted her."

"It doesn't matter what they think," she said on the cusp of rage, and Roger seemed to fold in on himself the more she spoke. "You're being compelled to have sex. That's undeniably  _wrong_."

When that didn't seem to raise his spirits, Harry interjected, "What about Madam Pomfrey? She'd keep  _her_  out if you asked her to and wouldn't ask any questions."

"What if she does? What if she blames me too? I would sooner kill myself." The Ravenclaw's desperation was plain to them, but before they could say anything more Delacour's voice echoed from beyond their corridor.

"Ro-jerrrr! Where are 'oo?" The champion's voice sounded deceptively velvety. Harry could hear an annoyed hardness to it, one he had been rather familiar five years ago, the same sort of tone which promised pain and then isolation.

The Ravenclaw made an inarticulate whimper and fled without another word. They could hear his frantic pants as he tore around the corner, albeit in the direction of the infirmary. Maybe he'd taken their advice.

The stunned Slytherins stood there for a moment, trying to process what had happened.

"He's got to tell someone. He needs to," Sally-Anne repeated as Harry frowned after the Ravenclaw.

"Do you think Theo has an amulet that would dampen her charm?"

"Maybe. Oh, I don't know." Her face was tight with unhappiness. She slashed her hands out. "I don't understand. She could have her pick of the crowd, and she chases  _him_  down like an animal. She's no better than Yaxley."

Harry's face darkened. "We'll tell Merv."

"If that doesn't work, we'll have to corner her ourselves," Sally-Anne said with fierce conviction. Harry silently agreed with a quick nod.

* * *

After his last class of the day, Harry sat down for dinner. Into his first plate of pudding, a hex hit him squarely on the back of his head. He immediately rolled off the bench, pulling his cowl up, and yanked his wand from his holster. That was about when he realized someone had glued his tongue to the top of his mouth. Several spells sparked off his Spellfast cloak, and Harry nonverbally attempted a Freezing Charm. It had a small effect since he only did enough calculations for the one who hexed him.

 _A dangerous limitation_ , Harry thought grimly. He needed line-of-sight to make proper calculations of more than the one, not just a  _feel_  of their magic. He turned. Fleur Delacour had her curved wand in hand and another spell on her lips. Her eyes were murderous. He quirked a grin at her, supposing that she had been told something that disagreed with her.

Distantly he was aware that the other students were screaming and that teachers were sounding off firecrackers to try to get order.

He nonverbally cast a Shield Charm to protect his front as that was where he was most vulnerable. Not a moment later, spells collided harmlessly with it. He sent one nonverbal Stupefy after another at his housemates who decided that now was the time to ambush him. Finding an opening, he dove into the crowd of Ravenclaws and ran towards the professors who were attempting to regain order.

Quite abruptly, Harry found himself hanging by his ankle. His holly wand clacked to the floor as his cloak and robes hung towards the ground. He was grateful that he had thought to pull on trousers that day, or else his favorite kind of britches would have been internationally known. Concentrating on his wand, he frowned running through calculations to summon the wand to his hand. It twitched but didn't hop to his hand as he wanted.

"Use the force, Luke!" Someone jeered, completely breaking Harry's concentration. His wand rolled beneath him, where it remained while a smattering of laughter broke out.

Harry watched as his wand jumped to Mervyn's hand. His bloodsworn servant looked smug.

"Nice socks, Harry," one of the Weasley twins said and the other laughed loudly.

He was rather fond of Dobby's handmade gift. Harry growled, unable to answer that his other pairs of socks had mysteriously disappeared from his drawer.

"Head Boy Wynch!" Professor McGonagall's voice sounded scandalized. "Put Potter down this instant so he may undo his charm on Miss Delacour!"

Harry turned his head and saw a group of Beauxbatons students looking on with shock and dismay. Many were whispering and pointing towards their frozen champion.

Like a rope being cut, Harry suddenly found himself falling into a heap on the ground to the sound of laughter around him.

" _Silence_!" came the headmaster's amplified voice as Harry sat upright with Professor McGonagall's help. "For the chaos and panic that the Slytherin house is responsible for inciting, Slytherin House is henceforth disqualified from winning the House Cup this year."

The other three tables immediately erupted into loud cheers.

Harry stood up and heard something like the sound of marbles banging. He turned to see that the Slytherin Hourglass was steadily emptying itself of emeralds. As soon as it was empty, the glass tinted until it was too dark to see within it.

"As punishment for breaching the peace of the staff members, your fellow students, and our guests, every Slytherin has detention during their specific free periods. Furthermore, for the remainder of the school term, every Slytherin will give of themselves without complaint to an assigned instructor," he paused sagely. "That would make an even seven students for  _each_  instructor, barring one teacher for obvious reasons. Though I am sure your Head of House can sort you out." The headmaster smiled. "As for Miss Delacour's part in the ambush, her guest privileges to enter Hogwarts Castle without an adult escort are henceforth revoked. I am sure Madam Maxime will dole out an appropriate reprimand to ensure that her champion's unbecoming behavior does not happen again."

Harry could see the tall, sleek platinum blonde as she was ushered out the Great Hall with a stern-faced Madam Maxime behind her. As the double doors closed on them, he didn't miss the final piercing glare sent by Delacour. He was rather pleased that she was furious that she couldn't have her way with Roger Davies anymore. Her anger was nothing compared to the storm blowing through Harry, but with as firm of a grip on Occlumency he had, the storm was focused and not disruptive as it once could have been. The soul-shard lay dormant, not even roused by the excitement.

The headmaster clapped his hands and the mess of the room magically reversed itself to its proper state. "Now, if I'm not very much mistaken, we had only just begun our dessert course!" Desserts reappeared on the tables which righted themselves along with sparkling clean gold plates and goblets right before the stunned students' eyes, most of whom were still standing. "Tuck in, tuck in!"

Harry sat down silently, not missing the displeased, black stare of Professor Snape. The bloody bastard would have him toiling in the potions labs to the end of time if he could. Harry sighed heavily and in the back of his mind the sound of silver bells tinkled. Harry glanced at Mervyn, who grinned back and flashed a victory sign.

The Head Boy's plan to prevent Delacour from wandering Hogwarts unsupervised had worked beautifully. Harry smiled pleasantly and took the first bite of his treacle tart.

* * *

Breakfast was a very semi-quiet affair on the morning of the Third Task. Harry had woken to find only one pair of socks to wear: the most recent Christmas gift from the headmaster. They were much too warm for the season and chafed a bit against his skin, but he'd cast a Cooling Charm on them, thinking that Dobby must've taken the others to darn. Harry didn't remember the other socks needing it and shrugged it off as another of Dobby's eccentricities.

At the Slytherin Table, Harry looked around at his quiet, sullen housemates. As promised they'd been split up between Professors Flitwick, Sprout, McGonagall, Trelawney, Burbage, Hagrid, Sinistra, Babbling, Vector, and Moody and given miscellaneous tasks between classes and exams. Harry felt sorry for those who'd been taken by Babbling as she had the most demanding class. Surprisingly Professor Moody, who Harry had been assigned, had merely made everyone else in his group sort through and label Dark objects. Harry had had the most boring task of all: grading papers under Moody's direct supervision. He had not been scrutinized like that since leaving the Dursleys; the DADA professor acted as if Harry might sneak away if he weren't being watched at all times. He chalked it up to extreme paranoia, though the soul-shard seemed to be of the opinion that the headmaster had a hand in it.

"At least we've confirmed that it can't be any of the Hogwarts staff," Sally-Anne said, speaking about the Secret Sensors. "That leaves Madam Maxime, High Master Karkaroff, and Ms. Oke. It was worth losing the House Cup and getting detention every day to narrow it down to those three, right?"

"I doubt it's any of them. In fact, I don't think the imposter's still here. I'd bet ten Galleons that he fled as soon as it became unsafe," Harry stated casually.

No one looked at Harry. He could tell that they felt as though they had failed him.

"Chin up," Theodore said at their long faces, "We acted on information we thought was sound. It turned out it wasn't, but it's better than the opposite being true, right?" Even though the werewolf and most of the younger years hadn't participated in the last ambush, they still had done the assigned detention without complaint.

The post owls appeared, bringing a good luck card from Sirius. Between exams over the past week, Harry had somewhat mended things with his godfather. He still hadn't gotten a clear answer about the Marauder's Map.

Draco's eagle owl dropped a copy of the morning edition of the  _Daily Prophet_  into his lap. He absentmindedly petted its head as he flipped open to the front page. It preened and made a prrt-ing noise, somewhere between a chirrup and a purr.

"Anything interesting?" Theodore asked after taking a chomp of an apple.

The prat let out a heavy sigh across from Harry.

"What?" Harry said between bites of egg and toast.

Goyle and Crabbe read over Draco's shoulder. "You have one guess to figure out the author of this front page article," Draco said lightly.

"Rita Skeeter?"

"Mm."

"Who's it about? Me?"

At that, Theodore and Sally-Anne ducked under the table and crawled out the other side to stand behind Draco too, reading avidly.

"It's about me, isn't it?" Before Harry could demand to see the paper, Roger Davies called out across the room. Worry was evident in his tone. Several nights in the infirmary had done him good. "Potter! How's your head? Will you be alright to do the Third Task?"

"I'm fine, Davies! Skeeter's writing rubbish," Harry yelled back. He thrust a hand towards Draco. "Let me see it," he demanded, and Draco reluctantly passed it over. Harry saw a picture of himself staring out beneath a banner headline entitled, 'Harry Potter: Disturbed and Dangerous':

_The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potter's strange behavior, which casts doubt upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Quadwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School._

_Potter regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain from the scar on his forehead (a relic of the curse which You-Know-Who attempted on him). On Monday last, midway through an Arithmancy lesson, Rita Skeeter—Special Correspondent— witnessed a Stunned Potter being carried away to the hospital wing of Hogwarts after he became completely insensible in a fit of pain._

_"It is possible", says a top expert at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, "that this is the lingering effects of the Killing Curse upon Potter's magical vascular system." Sources who wish to remain nameless say that his Third Eye is extremely damaged and could be the root cause of his phantasmal pains and destabilized moods._

_This Daily Prophet correspondent, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public._

_"Potter can speak Parseltongue," reveals Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hogwarts fourth year. "He's even got a fan club called Parselmouth Potter's Pleasant Pals. It formed a few years back after he stopped an enraged snake from biting me. At the time, everyone thought he had set it on me, and assumed he'd done the same with that basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets. We all thought he wanted to wipe out Muggleborns in the school. And why not? Being able to order snakes around is so rare these days, and it was weird coincidence that only Muggleborns were hit. Ask anyone in our year and older. They'd remember how it wrapped up better than me. I had been Petrified through half of it."_

_Parseltongue, which is the language of snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers."_

_"You're worried he's a Parselmouth? What you should be concerned about is that Potter made friends with that Lupin werewolf, thinks an ex-Death Eater 'isn't so bad', and has even rumored to have gotten a bloodsworn servant," says Freya Pennyworth, a Hogwarts prefect, "Imagine: A fourteen-year-old owning someone's magic! How awful!"_

_An Auror, wishing to remain unnamed, agrees, "A Slytherin who's got themselves a bloodsworn servant and seeks out the company of werewolves and former Death Eaters? Sounds familiar, don't it? Whoever it is must be shaping themselves up to be a violent, bloodthirsty tyrant; in short, a Dark Lord. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could spit."_

_Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to continue competing in the Quadwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the tournament, the Third Task of which takes place this evening._

"Well," Harry said, blinking rapidly. When the seventh years had warned him that it could get worse, they weren't joking. At least summer break was right around the corner.

"How did she see that you had a fit in Arithmancy?" Sally-Anne asked suddenly. "I was there. She wasn't. The windows are blacked out for anybody trying to peek in and the door was closed…"

"Personally, I think it's strange that my father would want this to be published," Draco murmured.

" _It's strange_?" Harry repeated. "You know your father doesn't like me."

"It's obvious he's had this information for a while. Why now? I think the timing is peculiar…" His grey eyes had taken on that faraway quality they always got when he ran through different scenarios.

"It's obvious isn't it?" Sally-Anne said lightly.

"Is it?" Harry echoed.

Theodore snorted. "He's trying to get you pulled from the competition. Raise the public's ire so they can throw their weight onto the headmaster and Minister Fudge. Not that they could, or they already would have dissolved the contract binding you to participate. But if they were able to cancel the tournament? Maybe so."

"But  _why_?" Harry uttered. "Wouldn't Lucius Malfoy want to see the Boy-Who-Lived die a horrible death without lifting a finger?"

"Should the Dark Lord successfully use you in a blood ritual, he would get himself resurrected and begin his terror and bloodshed anew. Grudge or not, my father rather enjoys peacetime power," Draco said loftily. "Saving face can wait until more important matters pass."

Harry stared incomprehensibly at Draco, and then at his friends. "You believe the same?"

They nodded. "No one  _sane_  wants the Dark Lord back. He's nothing but a Muggle-hating despot," Theodore said lowly. "His rule taught our parents that."

"Potter," a familiar voice dripped venomously behind them. Harry turned politely to Professor Snape, who looked as if he had swallowed a lemon whole. "The champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast."

"But the task's not until tonight!" Wondering if he had mistaken the time, Harry accidentally spilled scrambled eggs on Tracey's robes. "Sorry," he muttered, face hot at his clumsiness. She hardly looked at him. With a casual flick of her wand and a murmured Cleaning Charm, her robes were good as new.

Snape sneered down at him, "The champions' families have arrived since they were invited to watch the final task. This is simply a touching moment of disgusting sentimentality." With a parting resentful look, their professor left through the double doors of the Great Hall.

"We've got to head to our exams. Catch you later?" Theodore asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Good luck."

"Were they easy?"

"Enough that even you should be able to pass them," Harry quipped.

Theodore smiled, nudged an elbow against Sally-Ann who was lost deep in thought, and the two of them left the Great Hall.

Harry let out a short sigh. He was very glad he'd gotten all his exams, including the ones from Salem Institute out of the way. All he had to focus on now was the Third Task. He imagined that Mrs. Longbottom and Neville were waiting for him to finish his breakfast, but he had lost his appetite. Ignoring the whispers and glares due to the oh-so-helpful  _Daily Prophet_  article, Harry went into the adjacent chamber. It felt a lot less like walking to the gallows as the first time had.

Diggory and his parents were right inside the room by the door, chatting animatedly. Surprisingly, Delacour was standing in the opposite corner, jabbering away to her mother in French, while her little sister was holding their mother's hand. The young girl waved shyly at Harry, who waved back whilst simultaneously ignoring her older sister's pointed glare.

Then Harry saw Sirius Black standing alone in front of a fireplace. Harry's heart leapt into his throat. It was completely unanticipated. "Sirius…?"

"Surprise!" His godfather threw his arms up. "What do you think?" He was wearing brand-new dress robes and was looking much healthier than Harry expected after his godfather had spent months in Azkaban.

"But… I thought the court judgment would last through summer?" Harry said. He hoped he wasn't experiencing a very vivid dream. He sucked down air when he realized he was holding his breath.

Sirius patted his back with a soft smile. "Thanks to your friend Granger's Dictum Pin and the capture of Wormtail, the Absolution didn't take as long as expected. I've been exonerated of all charges of mass-murder and abetting a Dark Lord. In other words: Free to take my rightful place as your godfather." Leaving a hand on Harry's tense shoulder, Sirius grinned broadly down at him. "Cat got your tongue?"

After another second, Harry threw his arms tightly around his godfather's middle as he felt his awkward words would cheapen the moment.

"I wouldn't have let Mrs. Longbottom keep you, not when I've a promise to keep to your parents." Harry's face felt like it would split in two while Sirius hugged him back. "So? Still want to live with me?"

"Of course! Though Neville will be disappointed when he finds out."

"He's certainly welcome to stay at Grimmauld Place whenever he wants."

When Sirius pulled away to get a look at his face, Harry grinned up at him. "Really?"

"Really."

Suddenly aware that he hadn't shaken attention from the Delacours, Harry stepped back self-consciously.

Sirius looked around. "It's great being back here. It's much different when you're a dog."

"Did they make you register?"

"Yeah, and I have to get certified. They said I've been doing it wrong for  _years_ , but that will come later." Sirius had regrettably caught Delacour's eye and was looking rather distractedly in her direction.

"Harry," Diggory said, tapping a shoulder before Harry could warn his godfather about them, "This is my dad, Amos Diggory, and my mum, Enya."

"Hullo," Harry said politely, not really giving them the attention they deserved. Diggory's mum smiled, but his dad didn't seem as friendly. "This is my godfather, Sirius Black. He recently had his life sentence in Azkaban overturned." Harry felt a bit embarrassed to have to tug on Sirius' cuff like a young child to get his attention. "Sirius, these are Cedric Diggory's parents. His mum animates models for a living and his dad works in the Ministry."

Turning towards their group, but not giving them full attention, Sirius said kindly, "Irrevocable evidence of my innocence was discovered last year. I'm sure the  _Daily Prophet_ will report on it later." The Diggorys stared at him as if he were a wolf and they unwitting prey caught out on an open field.

"My word!" Diggory's mother finally said. "You're  _innocent_? After thirteen years in Azkaban?"

Tearing his eyes away from the Delacours, Sirius gave them a grim smile. "Only a little more than twelve… I escaped last year if you recall…?"

Mrs. Diggory was looking upon him with extreme pity. "How in Merlin's name did your mind survive the dementors?"

"Being truly innocent prevented my mind from crumbling," Harry's godfather said looking very uncomfortable. "Well, chat with you later." And then Harry's godfather stepped away to approach the two witches he hadn't been able to look away from yet.

Harry was going to follow him when Mr. Diggory clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a cool look. "Didn't you have a couple of run-ins with Ministry officials in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

"Er…" Harry frowned at him. "I really must—"

"What? I haven't heard anything about that," Cedric Diggory interrupted sunnily. At Harry's perplexed look, the champion said, "My father works in that office, remember?"

"Oh, right." Harry didn't like how Diggory's father was squeezing his shoulder to get him to stay put.

"Ced, I didn't want to disrupt your studies with work gossip. Ah, where was I? Oh yes. A couple years back there was that rogue house-elf who framed Harry Potter and then last year he was  _attacked_  by a rampaging Hippogriff and left bed-ridden for days. Terrible luck, wouldn't you say, dear?"

Mrs. Diggory nodded. "Truly! But as I understood it, an Antidote to Hippogriff Venom was finally invented, right dear?"

"Yes, yes. Without it, Harry wouldn't be before us today! Right, chap?" Mr. Diggory squeezed his shoulder again. Harry felt tendons grind against his bones beneath the grip. He wondered why the man hated him.

"I hadn't heard anything about a rogue house-elf," their son mused aloud.

"Dumbledore probably hushed it up, just as he hushed up the hippogriff attack. Among other things," Mr. Diggory said, staring at Harry as if that might cause him to spill his deepest held secrets.

"Er…" Harry tried to interrupt because that simply wasn't true.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," Diggory's father continued with unerring eye contact, like Harry had seen snake charmers do, "Told us all about the tasks and how you're the reason why he's still in the running. I said to him, I said—Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren if you beat out Harry Potter to the Chalice first!"

Harry couldn't think of anything polite to say to that, not with the slightly maniacal look Mr. Diggory was giving him.

The Hogwarts champion was looking pink in the ears. "Dad, I'm in last place… I told you this."

"Points don't mean anything now that you've made it to the last task." Mr. Diggory patted his son on the back with his other hand. "Especially with the sort you're up against."

"What do you mean by 'the sort you're up against'?" Harry questioned, finally able to get away from the man's vise-like hand and side-step another attempt to grab him.

"Ignore him," Diggory said, frowning after his father, "He's been angry ever since Rita Skeeter's article about the Quadwizard Tournament—you know, when she made out that you were the Hogwarts champion and didn't mention me."

"Didn't bother to correct her, though, did he?" Mr. Diggory said to his son.

Harry countered smoothly, "I didn't sit down for an interview. How could I have said or corrected anything?"

"That's right, dad. He hadn't sat for one," the Hogwarts champion said. "He came out of the room not a few minutes later in a rage."

"You didn't?" Mrs. Diggory looked as thoroughly unconvinced as Mr. Diggory.

Harry glanced over to Sirius, wondering why he hadn't come to his defense. A jolt of adrenaline hit him when he realized that his godfather may be fully entranced by Delacour and her mother. All those years in Azkaban alone must have made him particularly vulnerable to their charm. "Excuse me," Harry told the Diggorys. "I have to go fetch someone before he makes a fool of himself."

Mr. Diggory looked as though he was going to say something else, but Mrs. Diggory laid a hand on her husband's arm; he hmphed in response.

"Good luck tonight, Harry," the sixth year Hufflepuff said.

"And you!" In the corner of the room, Harry saw a flushed Krum conversing rapidly in his native tongue to his mother and father, who both wore deep frowns. Krum had inherited his mother's dark hair and his father's hooked nose. His parents did not look pleased with whatever he was saying.

In moments, Harry came upon the Delacours. "Sirius," he said firmly. When the wizard didn't seem to notice him, Harry pulled out his wand and cast a mild Stinging Hex.

"Yow! What was that— _ah_." His godfather's ears turned cherry-red after Harry canceled the hex and holstered his wand. Then, Sirius apologized profusely for cornering Delacour's mother. The Slytherin highly suspected that it wasn't all Sirius' fault.

"Non woh-rries, Monsieur Black. 'Oo wer' own-ly ask-eeng ma 'and in marr-ahj," Mrs. Delacour responded glibly, eyelashes smoothly fluttering. Harry's godfather seemed about to become ensnared again by that small action. "But Ah mus' de-cline. Life az a widow beneh-fits moi."

Delacour hadn't stopped her look of keen interest as she eyed Harry. Whatever Sirius had said must have piqued it, something Harry really didn't want. One too-eager suitor was really enough. "A walk should clear 'is 'ead," the champion suggested politely. Her jaw seemed a bit tense and her teeth sharp, giving her an unsettling appearance.

"Right. We'll be going then."

The half-veela nodded her head, eyes silvery as she watched Harry with as much keen interest as her eldest daughter, though far less menacing.

"If you insist…" His godfather didn't sound like he wanted to leave them alone. Calmly, Harry grabbed his still-apologizing godfather by the arm and led him out of the side chamber.

At Harry's rigid insistence, they spent the rest of the morning walking the grounds. He pointed out the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship, while Sirius silently followed with a thoughtful expression. After seeing the ship, his godfather turned away and headed up the hill. "I want to see the Whomping Willow."

"I haven't quite forgiven it," Harry said dryly. "Maybe I will once another year passes." He pointed at the marking for the grave, looking as fresh as the day he planted it. "My Nimbus Two Thousand."

Sirius chuckled, until he realized that Harry was serious. His expression became somber. "Your broom meant that much to you?"

"Yeah… I remember riding a toy broom a long time ago. I think my mum said it was from you." Harry watched as the branches of the Whomping Willow casually flicked a songbird so hard in midflight that its body lost feathers before crunching to the ground. A fox lurched forward and scooped it up, dodging the tree's thumping branches. "How's Lupin?"

"Oh," Sirius' voice was a bit rough, and Harry turned to see that he was half-turned away looking across the greenery. "He's alright. I've sent him a note telling him that he's free to sleep at my place."

"Did you do that often, after you all graduated?"

"He had trouble keeping a job and not many people would trust a werewolf back then. Wolfsbane Potion wasn't in wide circulation until the 1980s, and it was far more expensive back then than it is now since it had been devised a few years before that. A decade helps open the market up a bit with more Potions Masters available to brew it and the potions ingredients easier to come by." Sirius pocketed his hands as if he wasn't sure what to do with them. "Remus has yet to take up my offer. I suppose he's busy."

"He's apprenticing," Harry said before he thought to censor himself.

"Is he? But he's got no Mastery as far as— _Ah_ ," Sirius said when Harry had looked at him. "I had heard he Registered after dodging it for so long. I guess helping the newly infected acclimate to the monthly change or changes can be a steady job with the right clients." His godfather's face creased when Harry looked away. "…What aren't you telling me?"

"It's not for me to tell," Harry said simply.

It was less than a minute before Sirius's shadow overtook Harry. A low growl from his godfather raised the hairs on Harry's nape. "He infected someone while he was teaching here, didn't he?"

Harry offered no response. Sirius sighed, stepping away from the Slytherin, and Harry felt he could breathe again.

"Sorry." Sirius flopped onto the ground and patted a spot next to him. "Come sit with me. Tell me about your school year. The reports from your Head of House give me the impression that you're more of a hellion than your father, but less clever."

"Professor Snape wouldn't say I was clever even if I was," Harry said. "But I don't think most fourteen-year-olds have Potioneer Novice Licenses or manage dual enrollment between top magical schools without poor marks somewhere."

"Most teenagers won't ever have to face what you have and eventually will, Harry." Sirius had a severe graveness to his expression, showing every torturous year he'd spent in Azkaban. "If you were average in every way, I don't see how you could have survived any of it, neither your dangerous adventures at Hogwarts or the drudgery at your hateful Aunt's place. Did they really punish you for making better marks than their fat-headed son?"

He nodded, tearing at the grass under his hand and twisting the leaves together.

"Well, I want you to know that you're not here to prove anything. I want you to enjoy your time at Hogwarts for as long as you can." Sirius' eyes had taken on a mournful quality. "I know you're quick-witted and tough, but you don't have to kill yourself to get Es and Os. I don't expect perfection. You're human, like the rest of us, and deserve to make mistakes."

"Do you wish I had been placed in Gryffindor like my parents?" Harry stiffened when the question burst out of his mouth and looked at the drying green stains on his fingertips.

"Only because I would have rather you not be placed where the slimiest git I know is in charge," Sirius said easily. "You remind me a little of my younger brother. He had Sorted Slytherin too, even though he always came off as unassuming to me. At least he never became a blackened spot on the family tapestry."

Having read mentions of symbolic disinheritance in his light reading about the bloodlines of Merlin, Harry nodded and held his tongue in case his godfather wanted to say more.

They watched the Whomping Willow flail around in the strong breeze, and then the lunch bell tolled.

The moment broken, Harry stood and stretched. "Oh, good. You can come meet my friends," Harry grabbed Sirius' hand and leaned his whole body back to help the larger wizard to his feet.

"Harry…" His godfather stood up a little unsteadily. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"They're not bad, honestly…other than Draco, you'll probably loathe him. I know I did at first," Harry jogged ahead excitedly, while Sirius trudged behind him.

"But not anymore?"

"We might not ever be close, but I don't count him among my enemies," Harry answered honestly, without missing the disapproving look that crossed Sirius' face.

They made it into the cool interior of Hogwarts castle and Harry led his godfather to the Slytherin table that was slowly filling. The older man seemed twitchy, but Harry coaxed him into sitting.

Moments later, Harry's Slytherin year-mates appeared and he introduced each one of them to Sirius. Well, everyone but Draco. Harry guessed that they would know each other because of preceding reputation.

Seated across from them, Sally-Anne's tension had faded very little after introductions were made. Even though she knew Harry's godfather was innocent, she peered at him suspiciously.

"Perks… that's not a Wizarding name I've heard of before," Sirius said carefully.

"My dad was adopted by Muggles. He's a Squib. So's my mum," she answered.

Sirius' eyes closed and then opened. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Loss?" Harry asked curiously.

"The names of Wormtail's victims. I had them memorized while I had time to rot in my cell… not much else to think about for twelve years with only annual visits. Perks was on it. A Wilma and Gene Perks. Your dad's Muggle parents, am I right?"

Sally-Anne nodded, her expression shuttered.

" _Oh_ ," Harry said stupidly.

Sitting beside Sally-Anne, Theodore roughly nudged Harry's foot under the table. "The food's here. Eat something."

Pansy laughed. "He's excited about the Third Task tonight."

"My bet's that Harry's appetite is put off because of Skeeter's morning article," Tracey said, not looking up from her book. She and Bulstrode were birds of a feather with their books about Muggle Curiosities.

Sirius snorted through his nose and clasped Harry about the shoulders. "Or maybe because he's sharing his first meal with his godfather? Don't be shy, Harry. Eat up." When Harry didn't move fast enough, Sirius started piling Harry's favorite foods onto his plate and filled his goblet with pumpkin juice. Harry blinked at it a bit surprised. How closely had Sirius watched him as a dog?

"How do you know what he likes to eat?" Daphne leaned forward curiously, apparently having difficulty scooping thoughts from the recently exonerated wizard. If so, it was probably a side effect of living among dementors for so long.

"I didn't think his tastes would be much different from his dad's. He looks so much like James," Sirius said grinning as Harry dug in. "Any of you have the  _Daily Prophet_  from this morning? I want to read what that no-good witch had to say."

Despite the newspaper sitting by his elbow, Draco continued eating his food and chatting quietly with Crabbe as if Harry's godfather didn't exist.

Sirius had obviously seen the newspaper but his eyes kept passing over Draco as well.

Harry nudged the prat. "Draco, can I borrow your copy?"

"Just don't spill anything on it," he said airily, passing the rolled copy over.

Harry passed it to Sirius who unfurled it. He had only just finished his mash when his godfather roared out, "Lily and James Potter's son, a  _Dark Lord_!?"

"Is there something  _wrong_  with that?" Draco snapped.

"Maybe not to a  _Malfoy_ , but—"

"Yes, terrible!" Harry said at the top of his lungs, horribly reminded of how Draco and Ron bickered. The whole of the Great Hall seemed to have turned their attention on them. He got up from the bench. "I'm done eating, Sirius," he lied, knowing every Slytherin who heard would know it. "Want to wander around the castle?" He persistently tugged on his godfather's arm, until Sirius broke his unblinking eye contact with Draco.

"Okay, but I'm keeping this," his godfather said to Harry's roommate with narrowed eyes.

With a crooked smirk, Draco drawled, "I was merely going to paper the floor of the common room in case a mutt—"

"FANTASTIC!" Harry bellowed, yanking a spluttering Sirius away from the Slytherin Table. His godfather followed with little complaint. Once they had cleared the Great Hall, Harry rubbed his neck. "I would appreciate it if you didn't insult my friends. Or act like that."

"That brat of Malfoy's practically a Death Eater. And act like what? I was a perfect gentleman."

Harry was just glad to have separated them. "Don't act like you're my age," he said as he deliberately led him away from the Great Hall. "Draco baits people for fun. He especially loves to tick off Gryffindors, though he's laid off recently."

"Only if you do something for me in return."

Surprised at the bartering of favors since it was so common among Slytherins, Harry looked up at him,

"Act  _your_  age. Lighten up. You're far too mature."

Frowning, Harry raised an eyebrow.

" _Merlin's beard_ , you look like Snivellus!" Sirius moaned and placed his hands onto his face. "James would be rolling in his grave if he saw."

Disliking the comparisons to his father, Harry sighed and continued his path through Hogwarts. "Where would you like to go next?"

"Anywhere. It doesn't matter much to me… As long as it's not a dungeon. Oh! We could use the map. See if there's been any changes in the past twenty years!" Sirius made a face of concentration as he dug through his jacket. Like the holy grail, he pulled it from a deep pocket. "Remus sent it to me by owl after I got out. Would you like to do the honors?"

" _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_." Harry tapped his wand against it, and the introduction formed.

"Beautiful." Sirius tapped his dark wand on the parchment. " _Reveal your secrets_."

Immediately, something happened that Harry had never seen before. On the cover, a list of dates appeared along with a scroll's worth of names. Harry saw that his name was on it more than a dozen times, but far less than the others.

"Snivelly tried to access it last year, did he?" Sirius laughed to himself. "Ah, I see he stopped at one X."

On the Parchment where Sirius pointed was written: April 1994, Professor Severus Snape, X

Harry understood that the number of Xs denoted the level of danger a magical creature had... Could this be something similar? "One X? Does it go up to five Xs?"

"Only if someone's that stupid." Sirius said, and then he flicked a finger at it. "It was Moony's idea. He was worried about unauthorized access especially considering how  _powerful_  it is. Prongs tested it out on Snivelly, left it for the snooping creep, and by far it was a wild success. It was worth getting hexed as soon as Madam Pomfrey released him from the infirmary…"

It sounded to Harry that Sirius and his dad might have deserved it if he guessed what kind of Dark Arts had been woven into the map by Lupin.

"Looks like Fred and George Weasley took very good care of this when they found it six years ago in Filch's office in that unused drawer I marked." He grinned, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes.

"You didn't…"

Sirius couldn't seem to help the chuckles. "Worked like a charm, didn't it?"

" _You_  marked the drawer  _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_?"

"I knew Filch would use the drawer himself over time. Hogwarts likes to accommodate him, you see, so he wouldn't think anything of it. And being a Squib he couldn't use a spell that would expend the one-time chance to reveal the incantations necessary to use the map."

"So, that's how it came to be in their possession. I never asked," Harry said. "The Weasley twins say they owe their success to  _this_  map. They'd probably love to meet one of its creators."

With a solemn look, Sirius turned to him. "I only carried out Prongs' idea. We wanted him listed first, but he insisted on placing his name last."

"Why last?"

"He said it was because he hadn't lifted a wand to help… But the truth is that none of us would have thought it up without him there."

Silence filled the corridor as Sirius stared at the map. Several minutes later, his godfather looked up. "I'm sorry, Harry. I never was very good at plans like your father. If I hadn't swapped places with Wormtail…" He stared off into space again for such a long time that Harry was worried he was having a stroke. Suddenly, tears began to pour down his godfather's face.

Harry looked away to give him some privacy. When he saw Hufflepuffs heading their way, he said, "Let's explore the rest of the castle. What do you say to that?"

So, he and Sirius whiled away the afternoon exploring the secrets of Hogwarts castle; joy and curiosity lifted the years from Harry's godfather as he discovered how the castle had rearranged itself over two decades. In the Potions store room, Professor Karkaroff paced with the Slytherin Head of House in attendance… And Professor Oke was in the old Alchemy classroom, tapping a foot impatiently. At Harry's askance, Sirius was the one to find Madam Maxime on the map strolling through the forest beside Rubeus Hagrid.

Rocking on his heels, Harry knew he was right about Crouch Jr. The wizard was nowhere to be found at all. The mission had been abandoned when the Ministry got too close…

At the sound of the evening bell, Harry and Sirius returned to the Great Hall for the evening feast. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, had joined the staff table where Mr. Crouch used to sit. Professor Snape glared more than once at Sirius, but flicked his eyes away with a smirk whenever Harry's godfather would glare back.

Sirius for his part didn't throw another tantrum or get into a fight with any of Harry's housemates. However, he didn't seem to like any of the wizards in Harry's year or Pansy, Bulstrode, or Daphne. Fortunately, the adult remained a gentlemen, not rising to any of the goading that Draco would lob at him without warning. The dinner had more courses than usual, and Harry ate voraciously, having missed his usual servings during lunch. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to dusky purple, Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table and silence fell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes' time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task for the Quadwizard Tournament. Champions, at this time please follow Professor Flitwick down to the stadium…"

Stomach slumping to the floor, Harry stood up with more confidence than he felt.

"Good luck, Harry," Sirius said to him and then winked. "Stay focused on the Third Task. I want my godson back in one piece."

The Slytherins all along the table were applauding Harry; Neville, Ginny, Luna, Hermione, and Colin Creevey yelled good luck to him from their House tables, and he headed out the Great Hall with the other three champions.

"I hope that article didn't ruffle your nerves." Professor Flitwick said as they went down the stone steps onto the grounds.

"I'll be fine, professor," Harry said truthfully, one eye on the Beauxbatons champion ahead of him who hadn't acknowledged his presence. He compulsively thought over the most useful hexes and spells he knew as they strolled across the lawn.

In front of them lay a twenty-foot high hedge where the Quidditch pitch used to be. There were four separate gaps: entrances for each champion to the vast maze. Every one of them looked dark and uninviting. There were color flags hanging by each from left to right. One was light powder blue with the two wands crossed on it; another was yellow-and-black badger on a grey background; then there was a black flag with a two-headed red eagle on it; the very last was a green-and-silver serpent on a black background

Behind them, multi-leveled stands were filling with students, professors, and the champions' families. Harry noticed that Professor Snape was curiously absent… The air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet. Above the champions, the sky was a deep, dark blue and the first stars had begun to appear. Professors Moody, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid were milling around, wearing large, luminous red stars on their person. When Harry passed them, he heard Hagrid wish him good luck.

" _Sonorus!_ " Professor Dumbledore said standing behind a podium facing the crowd. "Earlier today, the Quadwizard Cup was placed deep within the maze. Now, as Miss Delacour leads in points, she will be first to enter the maze…"

No longer listening, Harry peered past the gap that had the Slytherin crest posted down the misty, dark space between the high hedge walls. He drew his wand in anticipation for a difficult Third Task. He was barely aware of the crowds' chanting.

When Dumbledore's voice grew quieter, Harry again paid attention, "I have staff patrolling the perimeter. Should at any point a contestant wish to withdraw from the task he or she need only send up red sparks with their wands." Dumbledore stepped off the small stage and faced the champions. "Gather around quickly!"

Harry stepped towards the headmaster with Diggory and Krum on either side of him. Delacour was across, looking as focused as the others without the nervousness she had before facing a dragon. Harry couldn't help the small smile. She immediately frowned, eyes glinting with smoldering anger.

Breaking their eye contact, Professor Dumbledore leaned forward and said, "In the maze, you'll find no dragons or creatures of the deep. Instead, you'll face something even more challenging. You see, people  _change_  in the maze…"

Did he meant that literally or metaphorically? Or were there traps that would transform them into dangerous beasts?

"Oh, find the true Quadwizard Chalice if you can. But be very wary, you could just lose yourselves along the way." The old wizard pulled away. "Starting positions, champions!"

The crowd in the stands began to cheer even louder. The champions broke away, lining up before their entrance.

Wand still gripped tightly in hand, Harry went back to the gap marked by the Slytherin crest, the farthest right one into the maze.

"On the count of three," the headmaster said, "One—"

At the blast of the cannon, Delacour's body leaped forward and disappeared beyond the hedges. Vines thick with leaves crawled together, sealing off the entrance to the maze as if it had never been.

"Mr. Potter, be at the ready," Professor Dumbledore directed. The old wizard gave the signal and the cannon went off again.

Harry hurtled forward into the maze. As soon as he had passed into it, vines and bushes grew together behind him blocking out the light. The sound of the crowd and music was silenced. " _Lumos,_ " he said quietly as he raced forward, recalling the details of the maze that Bletchley had helped him memorize. After about fifty yards, he reached a fork and turned left. There was no one in front of him or behind him. He continued on at a jog, taking a right and then another left. Despite the fog that surrounded him, Harry didn't feel very scared. The lack of obstacles certainly unnerved him, but he thought that perhaps it was meant to lure him into a false sense of security.

There was a rumbling far away from him as he continued farther, letting his instinct carry him. He hadn't yet hit a dead-end, which made him think that the map in his head was obsolete. He had noticed that at one intersection the hedges would press together and form new pathways. Cupping his wand in his palm, he said, " _Point me!_ " The wand turned slightly diagonal to the right. He was fairly sure he was heading in the correct direction.

As he rounded another corner, a twelve-foot tall dementor stopped him in his tracks. Summoning the happiest memory he had, his corporeal silver stage burst from the tip of his wand and charged at the dementor which appeared to fall back and cower. This was not typical dementor behavior…

"You're a boggart!" Harry quickly thought of a hilarious image and cast, " _Riddikulus!_ "

The noble silver stag faded as Harry focused all his energies into the new spell. As soon as the shiny black helmet appeared, he laughed. The weak shape-shifter exploded into a wisp of smoke. He moved on, quickly and quietly as possible, much more alert to ambush by creatures.

Harry came upon a shroud of golden mist. Not recognizing anything particularly foul about it, he jogged through it, and the world turned upside-down. If Harry hadn't already experienced something like it when he was taking Occlumency lessons he might have been a little more panicked. Harry swayed from the grass, his feet glued to it, while his glasses dangled off his nose, threatening to fall into the bottomless sea of stars… it was quite exhilarating actually.  _Think, there must be some trick to this_ … He thought as blood rushed to his head.

A scream in the distance caused him to act. He lifted his foot, and suddenly the world righted itself once more. He stopped to take a deep breath to calm his stomach. When he saw no red sparks shoot upward in the narrow skyline, his feet carried him in the direction of whoever screamed. Despite his best intentions of helping whoever-it-was, Harry couldn't quell the delight that it might mean that a champion was down for the count.

Quite suddenly a twenty-foot long Blast-Ended Skrewt came across his path. Cursing that he hadn't yet tried to summon a broom like Mervyn suggested, Harry jumped out of the way as a blast of fire shot out from the tip of its wickedly curled tail. His mind raced over Care of Magical Creatures class. Blast-Ended Skrewts had magic-repelling armor… to be effective Harry would have to hit its fleshy underbelly.

Harry jumped and rolled out of the way again, diving beneath the great scorpion-like creature. "STUPEFY!" he cried, pointing his wand at its underside.

Immediately it slumped to the ground, nearly trapping Harry beneath it if he hadn't rolled out of the way. Panting, he ran past the Stunned creature. " _Accio_  Firebolt!" He would see if that worked in a few minutes. If not, he'd try for the Shooting Star he had left propped against the outer wall of Hogwarts Castle, tucked in a corner that hardly anyone passed by.

Hearing someone nearby, Harry pressed up against the hedge. It was Viktor Krum stalking around. The Durmstrang champion turned and pointed a wand in Harry's face. Krum didn't appear to see him and his eyes were a curious shade of milky white, reminding Harry of someone who'd gone blind. He thought Krum might be under a bewitchment of some sort… When Krum had passed, Harry heard a moan and rushed to the hedge where he heard it. Cedric Diggory was unconscious and trapped by twisting, grasping vines. Not thinking he was in the best of situations, he immediately cast, " _Rennervate!_ " The Hogwarts champion came gasping awake.

"Get it off, get it off of me!" Diggory's voice was high and thready as he battled helplessly against the vines.

" _Diffindo_!" set Diggory free, and the Hufflepuff jumped up as if he'd gotten a million-volt dose and shakily brushed what was left of the vines off of him. Suddenly the taller wizard dove for the ground, searching frantically in the moonlight. With a relieved crow, he stood holding his wand in front of him as if afraid it would run away.

A terrible howling blew through the hedges and forced Harry forward. The hedges slammed together behind them.

"Run!" Diggory screamed, shoving his shoulder, and then overtook him. Harry soon lost sight of him when he took a sudden left turn down a misty lane.

" _Accio_  Shooting Star!" Harry cried, twirling his wand and thrusting it up. If he ended up with two brooms, he'd shrink the slower one. He wondered how far Fleur had made it.

Directly ahead, in the distance, was a soft blue glow. It was the Quadwizard Cup. If he touched it, this Task would soon be over. He took off running to the left when the hedges far ahead of him closed, covering the view of the cup.

" _Crucio!_ " Krum's voice whipped across the passage. "Get down!" Harry very nearly was struck by one of the Unforgivables if Delacour hadn't knocked him to the ground.

Diggory was not nearly as lucky as he screamed. Krum didn't appear to notice them at all.

"Let me up!"

The warm Beauxbatons champion shifted off of him, and Harry pointed his wand at Krum. " _Stupefy!_ " he shouted, striking the Bulgarian in the back. The larger youth fell over, out cold. Harry shot red sparks into the air and took off running as the strange, howling wind pushed him forward as if summoned by his idleness.

"Wait… Harry…!" The Hufflepuff cried, but Harry didn't have any time to waste.

Harry dashed around several hedges, meeting several dead-ends to the chalice he knew was right beyond it. Finally a path was clear to the ghostly blue cup ahead of him again. It was gleaming on a plinth a hundred yards away.

At the sound of soft panting, Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Delacour's determined look. Much quicker than Harry could ever go, she took off. Before he could blink, she had touched the glowing cup and disappeared.

Disappointment crashed down on Harry, just as the whistling sound of an ancient broom descended on him. He reached up and caught the Shooting Star. Someone would have collected him by now if Delacour had won the Quadwizard Cup, right?

Hoping against hope that none of the professors had placed anti-flying spells on the hedges, Harry shoved off and aimed straight for the open sky. Vines clawed for him, but were just shy of grabbing him. Once at a higher vantage point, the Slytherin could see multiple blue glows. Which one was the true Chalice? Coming to a decision, Harry angled the broom back down and leaned mightily into it. He went careening to the very center of the labyrinth, noticing that the hedges seemed to grow protective domes as if to prevent his re-entry.

A dark figure careened onto the path before the glowing chalice Harry had set his sights on. Harry's first impulse was to Stun his opponent to prevent him from grabbing the cup before he did, but he hesitated.

The crackling, chittering sound ahead of him caused Harry to look. An acromantula was balanced on the tall hedge, much faster than even Diggory's shadow. It ran across the side of the hedge and hopped the distance to the other side; Diggory did not see it since his eyes were fixed on the chalice.

"DIGGORY! TO YOUR LEFT!" Harry bellowed, unable to let the venomous spider do as it liked to a fellow contender.

The Hufflepuff looked just in time to hurl himself away from the acromantula, but in his haste he tripped and dropped his wand. The gigantic, hairy spider bore hungrily down on the wizard, rubbing its noisy pincers together.

" _Exaguamenti_!" Bursting through the now bone-dry, crisscrossing vines in his way, Harry held tightly to the broom with his left hand as he twirled the very end of his wand and dropped it down hard, " _DEPRIMO!_ "

With a sickening crunch, the spider was squashed as if an invisible giant had landed a foot on it.

Sweeping past the oozing body of the dead acromantula and Diggory's stunned face, Harry bore down the path, his eyes filled with the light of the chalice…  _Almost there, almost there_ , his mind chanted. The taste of victory was nearly at hand.

Within ten feet of his prize, a Magical trap sprang and Harry was quite suddenly stuck. Not recognizing the pattern of glowing runes which kept him hovering but unable to progress, he cast a general Counter-charm to no effect. With a hoarse yell, he beat a hand on the transparent barrier. He'd been  _so_  close!

" _Offandus!_ " Diggory shouted next to him, and Harry flipped forward falling in a heap on the ground. There was a loud crack, signifying that the broom had just been rendered unusable.

"Why'd you do that? You could have won if you wanted to," the Slytherin said in confusion, picking himself up and leaving the two broken halves of the Shooting Star laying where they were.

The Hufflepuff merely looked at him.

"What?" Harry asked crossly.

"You saved my neck twice today," Diggory said quietly, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Just because—this is not how it's supposed to work," Harry said, aching all over. "I was stuck. You weren't. You get the chalice."

"I don't care how it's supposed to work. You should win."

"Well, I do! Take the bleeding cup before I change my mind."

"You told me about the dragons, too; if you hadn't I would've gone down on the first task."

"And I almost didn't tell you. You forget I had a whole month to prepare," Harry snapped.

"I wouldn't even be here if you hadn't rescued my hostage in the last task," Diggory said mulishly.

"I only did that because I was thick enough to take that song seriously!" Harry half-lied. "Now quit being ungrateful and take the bloody chalice!"

Diggory set his jaw, staring the Salem Institute champion straight in the eye for several tense moments. Then he said, "No."

"Fine," Harry grumbled tiredly, looking towards the cup with its taunting blue glow. He imagined holding it over his head, hearing the roar of the crowd. The thrill and anticipation of  _recognition at last_  hummed within him, but he hadn't earned it free and clear. When an idea crept in from the dark, Harry didn't resist. He smiled at his rival. "Why don't we take it at the same time? That way it'll be a draw between your school and mine."

Diggory stared at him, unfolding his arms. "That's… brilliant."

Walking towards it, Harry holstered his wand. "On three, right?" he said, "One—two—three!"

They reached forward as one, each grasping a handle.

Instantly, Harry felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel. His feet had left the ground. In a howl of swirling color, he and Diggory were being transported. At first, Harry hoped it was one of the many fakes planted to send the hapless champion close to the starting point. However, it took longer and longer for them to land.

Considering how giddy the soul-shard was, Harry had only one viable answer: Voldemort's plan. Harry suspected that he had been expected to grasp the cup all along, to get kidnapped as the result of a most convoluted plan to have him 'win'. Diggory was staring at Harry with wide-eyed expectation as they spun around and around.  ** _It's a pity that the spare will have to go_** , the soul-shard whispered over the roar of the long-distance Portkey.


	19. The Crux of the Matter

Harry's feet slammed into the ground, and he fell face-first, releasing the cup. Hands in semi-muddy soil, he raised his head and realized with sinking dread that his worst fears had come alive. They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely, for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were in a dark and overgrown graveyard. Beyond him, there was a black outline of a small church and a large yew tree to his right. A hill rose to his left where a fine, old house had been built. That was all Harry needed to see before he drew his wand.

"You okay?" Diggory panted out beside him.

"Grab the cup," Harry said in a clipped manner, knowing he needed to get him out of there before he was murdered.

"I'm okay, too. Thanks for asking," the irritated Hufflepuff said as he reached down, grabbed the handle, and… disappeared.

The Portkey had still been active. Harry wanted to kick himself. He and Diggory could have gotten away together.

It was completely silent and eerie there in the empty graveyard. A strong sense of déjà vu filled him and equally terrified him. He was in Little Hangleton. Hopefully, Professor Dumbledore realized it when Diggory described his surroundings to them.

A very large cauldron stood near him in the clearing, and across from him there was a sole gravestone with a large angel statue standing upon it, where the name 'Tom Riddle' was written. The entire thing looked as if it'd been transported there. The foundation of the stone was stained brown as if it had been dug up. Yet it sat upon the hard-packed, undisturbed soil. Bones of what was once a person had been placed on the pedestal at the feet of the large, cowled angel.

 _The resurrection ritual. It must take place here!_  Without another look, Harry took off running in the opposite direction towards the vine-covered gate. He cast a spell at the gate to break it apart, but it sparked into it. The gate rippled and then melted into grey, unyielding stone, a memorial of some sort.

As a fire roared to life behind him, the sights around him became distorted from where the gate once was, and then the illusion bubbled and collapsed. The lay of the land was flat, not hilly. There was no extensive graveyard, no church or house, no yew tree. Instead Harry found himself in an overgrown garden with a tall dark outline of a wall in the distance. He had no hope of knowing precisely where he was in the dim moonlight.

Excruciating pain in Harry's scar nearly caused him to drop to his knees but he didn't dare. Even if he couldn't see in front of him, even if his ears rang shrilly from the pain he had to get away, he had to thwart Voldemort's attempt at resurrection. Darting around the obstacle in his path, he ran for the garden wall.

"Bertha, get him!" The raspy voice cried out shrilly. Voldemort.

Mid-stride, Harry launched himself to the side, barely evading whatever spell he had sensed.  _Bloody hell_. He staggered a bit before he tripped himself, urging his legs to carry him faster.

**_Don't run or we'll miss Dark Lord's resurrection!_ **

_SHUT UP._ But he felt the sickening caricature of friendship rising inside of him, the misguided sense of  _rightness_  and  _belonging_. He had to think over the damned soul-shard.  _You are going to get us killed!_

**_Am I?_ **

Harry tapped his chest with a murmured charm and then he leaped into the air to overtake the garden wall in one bound.

" _Stop him!_ "

" _Closum domus!"_  came a harsh cry from another, the same voice that had summoned the Snake-and-Skull apparition at the Quidditch World Cup.

 _Crouch_ , Harry had a second to think before he thumped into the magical barrier and fell to the ground disoriented. He ground his teeth, forcing himself to run along the wall, the shimmering curved wall always on his right.

"Oh, Harry. How foolish you are to think you could escape," the baby gurgled. Two black-robed figures approached at a slow stroll, like they weren't about to use Harry's blood up with Dark magic.

Diving behind a large decorative stone, Harry dug out his Invisibility Cloak from beneath his champion clothes and pulled it around him. He knew it had been cheating to take it with him, but he had never intended to use it during the task. Safely hidden, Harry took shallower, softer breaths as his heart thundered in his ears. Shoving his knuckles into his mouth, Harry screwed his eyes shut as the pain from his scar grew ever more unbearable, the weight heavy on his forehead. Mad cackling filled his head.

An incredibly large snake slithered in the grass in front of him. If he wasn't currently in the situation he was in, he would have said she was beautiful with markings very like the boa constrictor he'd released at the zoo years ago.

" _Master, he is near… so near… yet I cannot find him_ ," Nagini hissed.

A hooded figure stopped directly in front of Harry. He forced himself to remain where he was and to ignore the parts of him that screamed to embrace the figure. He focused on the parts that refused to give into the mad desire to reveal himself.

"Harry Potter, I will not kill you…" The creepy voice cooed softly from the plump arms of the black-robed figure, "I merely need a little of your blood. Just a tiny amount will do…"

Biting down on a knuckle, Harry choked back the hysterical laughter. The blood of a magical person was a powerful thing indeed. One did not willingly give up such a precious commodity. In control once more, Harry stood slowly and carefully navigated away from the figure and the rock.

Nagini hissed as she pressed up against the spot he had vacated. " _I smell his blood… I smell it!_ "

Shakily, Harry touched his throbbing forehead. His finger came away wet and slick with dark fluid. He knew at once that his scar was bleeding. The strain of walking grew easier the farther away from Voldemort he was and he felt less likely to vomit everywhere.

The shimmery wall stood mocking him, curving far up over his head. Harry didn't know what spell would be effective against it. He knew he couldn't stay here.

"Lord Voldemort will allow you to leave once the ritual has finished," the creepy voice cooed. "If you force my hand, that will be that much more unpleasant."

**_Why persist in pointless stubbornness?_ **

Firmly in control of himself, Harry grit his teeth and quickened his pace to place more distance between them.

"Collect him." The command was cool, yet amused as if it was futile to keep anything away from Voldemort.

Crouch's harsh voice cast, " _Haest-scrincanum Domus!_ "

A roaring sound filled the air and before Harry realized it he'd been scooped up by the wall, flying through the air at a terrifying speed. He found it hard to draw breath, while the other curved walls converged on a point. Harry was trapped within a rapidly shrinking sphere. He was forced into a compact crouch, his head tilted down. Much longer and he'd be crushed.  _Better crushed than—_

 ** _You idiot. I won't let you get us killed over a little blood._**  "ALRIGHT!" His voice ripped out of him. His hands pulled the cloak keeping him invisible from his shoulders and shoved it back under his clothes. The sphere had pushed him into a fetal position, knees drawn up. "You found me!"

" _Haltcnum Domus!"_

The shorter black-robed figure, holding the possessed infant stepped closer. Red eyes gleamed. "Tsk, tsk. I did warn you. My that looks uncomfortable." A chubby hand lifted and then dropped idly.

The sphere disappeared dropping Harry three feet to the ground and his wand was expelled from his palm. Before he jump to his feet, the overlarge snake was on top of him. He fought and kicked, but it simply laughed hissily at him.

" _Very good, Nagini._ "

The constrictor laughed as she rolled Harry to finish coiling around him.

 _Bugger, I'm dead,_  Harry thought stonily at the soul-shard.  _All because of you._

 ** _We're only in this situation because you chose to run._** His scar grew ever more exponentially painful every inch he was rolled closer to Voldemort. He swore he felt his ribs creak in the snake's tight grasp.

"Bart, prepare him for the ceremony." There was a loud tut. " _Nagini, I have told you that he is not to be eaten._ "

The snake unwound from him, and Harry made a noise as blood rushed back into his cold extremities. His arms flung out as if grabbed by the wrists and he was lifted magically into the air. Pain watered his eyes. Crouch was grinning at him, wand pointed casually at him as he walked to the clearing with the cauldron. A flick of his wand and Harry's sore body slammed against the unforgiving angel statue, and its stone arms jerked to lock him against its stone edifice. Though he struggled he could not get free. Soon he tired, trying to catch his breath. Beneath his feet, Nagini circled around the headstone. The soul-shard writhed with expectation, but didn't say a word.

There was thunder in the otherwise cloudless sky, and a dark cloud detached from another that had rapidly formed above Harry. It landed and pooled smoke on the ground beside him. It was none other than—Ms. Oke?! While a violently sick feeling curled in Harry's gut, she knelt on one knee before the hooded figure.

"My lord, you must begin the resurrection ceremony at once. The Diggory kid is blabbing to everyone about being Portkeyed to Little Hangleton," the Salem Institute principal said with a giddy voice. Harry's stomach had yet to settle. "It won't take them very long to figure out you aren't there even with the excessive Runic Wards in place."

"Most unfortunate that he slipped away," the high-pitched voice agreed. "Had you done as Lord Voldemort commanded, there would have been no other boy to contend with."

A look of regret crossed her features as she bowed her head low. "My deepest apologies, my lord. I hadn't imagined he would  _share_  the chalice."

"Despite your mistake, you have delivered the boy as promised and shall be richly rewarded."

Ms. Oke's head jerked up in surprise and a wicked smile crossed her face. "Thank you, my lord."

"I expect you and Crouch to fulfill your duties without hesitation while I am indisposed."

The two nodded, and then Ms. Oke darted off into the dark beyond the fire's light.

Harry had waited for her to transform, for something disgusting to happen beneath the skin of her face in shuddering ripples where flesh and bone would undulate and reveal that she was a Death Eater that had never served a day in Azkaban. But, the witch from the States wasn't Polyjuiced. Harry could scarcely believe it.

"Now is the time!" Voldemort ordered. "Bertha, begin!"

The cloaked figure, cradling the deformed baby approached the cauldron. The squirming bundle in her arms was loosely wrapped in black fabric. It was uglier than Harry recalled on Snape's visit. Voldemort's possession was obviously destroying its container. It was in the shape of a human infant, except hairless and scaly-looking. Its arms and legs were feeble and thin, and its face… its face was flat and snakelike. Harry was revolted by the sight of loose skin ready to slough off. Voldemort was held aloft and then dropped, without the swaddling blanket, into the boiling cauldron. Immediately, the pain grew less in Harry's forehead, and a peach-colored fluid splashed upwards.

 _Let it be dead_ , Harry wished fervently, but he knew this was foolish. Fear curled inside of him finding footholds. Harry didn't want to die. The soul-shard giggled.

Suddenly the figure began to shriek. "That's You-Know-Who!  _Merlin_ , help me! HELP ME!"

The black-robed figure dropped his cowl, revealing a thin man with curly, short black hair. His face was more pointed than his father's, marked only by a scar tracing down his cheek from the bone to his chin. He spoke over the witch's panicked shrieks, "Bone of the father… unwillingly given."

Harry saw a leg bone rise from the grave below his feet.

The bone caught flame and dropped into the cauldron, the surface of which was so thick with steam that Harry could no longer see its surface. It belched a poisonous blue light.

All while Bertha Jorkins stumbled back as she sobbed out. "The Boy-Who-Lived…?  _Here_? Harry Potter…  _No. No. What have I done?_ "

"Flesh of the servant…" Putting his wand away, the servant yanked out a silver knife, holding it up to the moon. His hand was steady. Moonlight gleamed from his eyes. Harry realized what Crouch, Jr. was about to do a moment before it happened and was unable to avert his eyes.

" _Willingly_ … sacrificed…" With his left hand, Crouch Jr. sliced off three of his fingers, which dropped into the cauldron with several plops. There was a scream but it was mercifully short as the mad servant began to laugh.

Harry could barely make out someone crawling out of the dilapidated house which was covered in ivy. The witch repeated 'No' like some mantra that would make everything better.

"Jorkins, you need to run!" The Slytherin shouted, but she didn't seem to hear him too deeply held by her fear. He tried again, "Run while you can!" She stared at him incomprehensibly as if he were speaking a foreign language.

The steam had gone from the resurrection potion—for that was what the cauldron obviously contained—and revealed a color that was as burning red as Voldemort's eyes. The Dark Lord's most faithful servant stepped towards Harry. "And… blood of the enemy…" His gaze of hatred locked on Harry's eyes.

"NO!" The witch latched both arms around Crouch's legs and the wizard fell to the ground.

Without speaking, Crouch kicked her, over and over again, not reaching for his wand or using the bloodied knife on her. There was the noise of bones breaking, and still she clung to him.

"NO! NOT HIM." Her arms remained where they were like a vise, and then there was a chime of rings. A runic circle formed beneath her, and the magic forced her arms to relax and stick to the ground. She cried out, "NO! HARRY!" Another chime and her voice was lost altogether.

The drying knife went for Harry's arm. He felt completely helpless to prevent what was about to happen. The first cut brought cool air to his forearm, and the second sliced, but drew no blood.

The Death Eater growled as he stabbed harder and harder, but Harry's skin didn't give. Harry blinked realizing that he couldn't cut him if he was using an unEnchanted blade.

Crouch cut through the rest of Harry's sleeve and ripped it back, peering at his skin and then recoiling. Harry suspected that his arm glittered with green scales.

Without a word, Crouch pointed his knife at Harry's arm frantically.

Oke smiled, looking calm. "That mermaid must have left her blessing when she grabbed him months ago. Let me handle that." Cool hands traced the scales unnervingly. Her green eyes met Harry's. "I apologize. This is going to sting."

She murmured a string of nonsensical words to Harry and the rings on her fingers lit up. They expanded, elongating over the tips of her fingers. The constant stream of muttering spew forth and the metal glowed white-out. With a jerk of her wrist, her fingers cupped and dug into his skin.

Harry howled when she yanked her hand back. Something green and made of innumerable tendrils remained in her palm, resisting every inch it was being pulled. The last bit snapped out from under Harry's skin and the whole thing shuddered and disintegrated.

Looking murderous, Crouch stepped close and quickly slashed Harry's arm. Harry bit down the scream before blood dribbled down his arm.

"… forcibly taken," the Death Eater finally growled. The knife came away with Harry's blood.

Harry panted trying to regain his calm, his center. He looked up to catch sight of the blood being flicked from the knife into the potion and then his eyes roved around. The runic circle holding Jorkins was gone, but she wasn't trying to get away. Firelight was reflected against the whites of her eyes as they stared fixedly at nothing.

Oke watched the proceedings eagerly as Crouch's voice rose with an excited cackle. "The Dark Lord shall rise… again."

The cauldron bubbled as soon as the drops of blood touched the potion. It began to foam at the edges. The wizard pulled back, ignoring the bleeding stumps that remained of his fingers on his right hand. His eyes were bright with awe.

"Run," he slurred at Jorkins, while the two others were distracted.

Her mouth parted, stunned. She shook her head, her arms useless weights beside her. "There's nowhere to run… There's  _nowhere to hide_. He will hunt me down. I  _know_  too much." Her eyes, so very dry and wide, stared up at him. "This is my fault."

Diamond sparks jumped from the cauldron; Harry closed his eyes unable to bear the bright light in the center of darkness. "No, it's not," he whispered. "This is mine." After everything he had learned, he knew so little. What chance had he had of fleeing without knowing how to Apparate? Since he didn't feel a tingle of his scar at all, he hoped it meant the potion had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

And then pain unlike anything he'd felt before coursed through his entire body. A great flame erupted overtaking the cauldron. The cauldron split open, and the potion within floated, forming into something ghastly.

Harry could no longer see straight, the pain all-encompassing. He screamed and screamed and screamed some more. And when the pain finally passed, he blinked the tears away and saw a tall, skeletally-thin man in black robes. Harry swallowed with his sore throat. Voldemort's back was to him as he touched and lovingly stroked his bald head.

The newly-risen, evil wizard breathed in deeply of the cool, burnt air.

Crouch and Oke looked upon their master with happiness. "My wand." Voldemort's chuckle was breathy, euphoric as he approached his old servant.

A wand with a bone-handle was offered to Voldemort with a courtly bow from Crouch, and it was retrieved with long, bone-white fingers. "Hold out your arm."

Without a whimper, the arm with the Dark Mark was bared and offered.

Voldemort grabbed the forearm and pressed the tip of his wand against the faded brand. It immediately grew robust in black color and shape.

Above Harry, there was a rushing noise. Black clouds roiled above him.

Seven dark trails of smoke came down, forming into Death Eaters. All of them wore black robes with deep cowls. All of them stood like silent sentinels in a circle around Voldemort.

"Welcome, my friends," Voldemort said in warm greeting, "Thirteen years it's been, and yet here you stand before me as though it were only yesterday."

Bertha Jorkins uselessly sobbed, strikingly poignant in the madness of the night. He paused before the slumped witch. "Shall I release you, you pitiful wretch?"

" _Please_ ,  _please_ ," she begged.

"You have served me fairly well, Bertha Jorkins. For that your death will be swift." He raised his wand. " _Avada Kedavra!"_  And in a burst of green light, she was dead.

At the instant strike of the curse, pain lanced through Harry's forehead and he ground his jaw down. As soon as it passed, he breathed heavily. The odds of Harry's escape grew ever smaller the more time passed. He realized his mistake at not taking every opportunity to escape. Now in addition to Voldemort and his pet snake, there were eight loyal—nine, if you counted the uninitiated Oke—Death Eaters ready and willing to serve their new-bodied master.

"Nagini…"

" _Yes, Master?"_  The snake's tone was eager as if it knew what was to come.

" _Dinner_."

Instantly, the snake struck, jaw dropping to better engulf the body of Berth Jorkins. Harry flinched as bones cracked while Nagini began the slow process of eating the corpse.

"Now," The evil wizard approached Oke. "We have a new inductee tonight. Kneel."

The principal instantly dropped to her knees, her eyes respectfully on the ground as she offered her left arm.

"Another one? I do collect the strangest supporters," Voldemort said as if an aside. He pressed his wand to her arm, and she made a pained noise as a black brand formed beneath the point of his wand. "Welcome. Since you survived, that's all the indication I need of your sworn loyalty to me and my cause to usurp those in control of the lands of my birth place. Rise and take your place among my Death Eaters." With a quick jerk of his wand, black cloth solidified from the air to wrap around her shoulders and head like the others.

The evil wizard paced towards the seven who had appeared at his summons. "I confess myself…" His voice cracked, and then he hissed dangerously, " _disappointed."_  His voice morphed into a snarl, "Not one of you tried to find me… Not you—" He twitched a finger and the nearest Death Eater fell to his knees.

The large form dropped to the ground, lying prostrate and reaching for his master's robes. "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!" He shrieked.

" _Crucio_!" Voldemort spat out, and the wizard's shrieks filled the air. Harry knew it was too much of a stretch to hope that someone could hear the cries. If no one had come at his own, he doubted they would come now. His scar stabbed with pain, knocking the breath out of him. The soul-shard was mercifully silent and still as if awed by Voldemort's presence.

The Death Eater continued to writhe on the ground in agony. Voldemort raised his arm, and the Death Eater gasped. "I'm sorry, milord," he wheezed, "For my impertinence."

The evil wizard hurled himself at another of his supporters. "Nor you!" This one fell to his knees, bowed forward. And then another, "Or you!" Until the seven had all fallen to their knees submissively, cringing as the bald, sickly-looking madman paced by them angrily. Only Crouch and Oke remained standing, heads tilted forward in reverence.

Voldemort stepped forward. "Not even you, Lucius…" A careless flick of bone-white fingers revealed Draco's father behind the mask.

Harry had never seen the whites of this particular wizard's eyes. He had always been composed, always collected, but in the presence of his evil master he was cowering. "My Lord, had I detected any sign, a  _whisper_  of your whereabouts—"

"There were signs, my slippery friend. And more than whispers…" He softly told the Malfoy Patriarch.

"I assure you, my Lord, I have  _never_  renounced the old ways." Lucius Malfoy pulled off the hood, uncaring how desperate he looked. "The face I have been obliged to present each day since your absence… that is my true mask."

"What sweet words, Lucius, but your actions do not precede you. Bart alone has shown me true loyalty," Voldemort said, circling the bowed figure of Crouch Jr. "Your reward …" He waved his wand over the stumps of Crouch's hand and silvery-fluid appeared, coalescing into three fingers.

The wizard flexed his new fingers. "Thank you, master…" His voice was filled with fervent devotion.

Staring beyond the group of his supporters, Voldemort stood beside the one Death Eater who had not spoken, not even to beg. "Besides Avery, the Lestranges, and seven others entombed within Azkaban, four of my true followers are missing… Three dead in my service, of which one has been replaced." He tilted his head towards Oke who bowed deeply at his attention. "And one deserter, who will be swiftly dealt with."

Voldemort focused his attention on the silent Death Eater. "And I am…  _surprised_  that you would show yourself when you have so publicly sided with that champion of common filth, lover of Mudbloods and Muggles alike, Albus Dumbledore…"

"I have thirteen years of information for you, my Lord," the Slytherin Head of House answered demurely behind his mask.

Harry's throat constricted painfully. He knew this would happen, knew it from the moment Snape had cast his guardianship aside. Yet, he'd hoped he would never have to witness the betrayal a second time.

"Yes, an admirable gesture, spying on Dumbledore when you believed me to be dead…" Voldemort cradled his wand, thoughtfully.

"I am not proud of it, my Lord. I was wrong," Snape said without a trace of distress, despite his precarious position.

Voldemort struck the mask in a flash of white and black. The mask blew off in a cloud of smoke, and the greasy-haired Death Eater was now bowing so deeply his forehead touched the muddy ground. "You doubted when I told you that precautions had been made to guard myself against mortal death."

"Yes, my Lord."

A bony, pale white foot was pressed against the side of Snape's head, and he turned it obediently. Voldemort's bare toes dug into Snape's cheek. When the professor did nothing, something ugly unfurled within Harry.

"Leave him alone!" Harry's lips shouted in outrage. Then like a startled anemone when Voldemort's red gaze slowly turned to Harry, the soul-shard's feelers pulled in on itself tightly,  _hiding_. Why? His vocal chords were in such acute pain that Harry swallowed convulsively.

"Ah,  _Harry_ ," Voldemort said gently, tutting. He dropped his muddy foot from Snape, whose face now bore a dirty print of toes and remained turned towards the ground. "Oh, I'd almost forgotten you were here." He pranced towards Harry. "Standing on the bones of my father. Yes…" He lifted his wand and then seemed to think better of it. "I'd introduce you… but word has it you're almost as famous as me these days," he said, red-eyes glittering, and then the madman turned to his supporters. "May I introduce… the Boy… Who  _Lived_."

Laughter met Harry's ears. He hated that he was unable to move. He couldn't summon his wand without line of sight or the movement of his hands and arms.

The serpentine, bald head whipped back to look at him. "How lies have fed your legend, Harry. Shall I reveal what really happened that night thirteen years ago? Shall I divulge how I truly lost my powers?" Voldemort was positively gleeful, and Harry was not in any mood to anger him. He gave the mad Dark Lord a short nod.

Obviously pleased, Voldemort paced back towards his followers. "Shall I, yes? It was love."

"No, it wasn't," Harry retorted with his raw voice.

"I believe that  _I_  am telling this story, Harry, not  _you_ ," Voldemort said softly, "Or did you want to tell it?" He was fingering his wand as if he longed to use it.

"No,  _sir_ ," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"Good, child. Someone has taught you manners…" Voldemort chuckled warmly and then continued, "Yes, it was  _love_. When Lily Potter sacrificed herself for her son…she provided the ultimate protection. When I sought my revenge, I could not touch him." The evil wizard flicked his hands towards Harry. "It was  _old_  magic… something I should have foreseen…" He stepped closer to him again. Harry could feel his breath on his forearm. "But no matter, no matter. Things have changed… I can  _touch you_." Descending upon Harry like a snake ready to strike, Voldemort held a splayed hand aloft, slowly dropping the forefinger towards Harry's forehead.

Forcing himself to remain calm and still, Harry met the unnerving red eyes. When Voldemort's finger came in contact with Harry's scar, Harry yelled out in surprise as it burned like a red-hot poker. The soul-shard shrieked, a desire to be whole resounding through Harry's mind.

Voldemort laughed, baring his teeth in a semi-friendly manner. A white finger covered in blood left his forehead, and Harry gasped for breath. "Hmm…" The blood was rubbed between bone-white fingers and Harry's scar was searched. "What a curious reaction…"

"I hate you," the words came snarling out of Harry, blood trickling down his face. "You've done  _this_  to yourself." Laughter bubbled painfully through an overtaxed throat. "Erudite fragility will succumb to madness. You've fashioned nothing more than an anti-life from death. Grindelwald had better sense than you."

Red eyes flashed. "Silence, boy."

Harry's teeth were bared. " _Show some bloody remorse before it worsens beyond repair. We are but pieces of the same soul."_

The tension that had grown thick among the Death Eaters evaporated when Voldemort laughed. "Oh.  _Oh_." He tsked as if reprimanding a naughty child. "You poor, poor child." He paced, inspecting Harry with an intensity that was vaguely discomforting. "No… I rather prefer you as you are. They would never harm their precious Boy-Who-Lived…"

The soul-shard recoiled, burning with fury. Harry relaxed his cramped fingers, finding the entire exchange odd.

With a flick of his wand, Harry's wand came to Voldemort's awaiting fingers. He turned to his followers, addressing them. "I would have once wanted to duel this boy to prove that what happened that night was mere chance. However… I learned something interesting about his wand…" He stopped directing to Harry, "Would you like to tell everyone what that is?" Harry swallowed as Voldemort cheerfully gestured to the silent Death Eaters. "Bart directed a witch by the name of Bertha Jorkins to me. She told me all sorts of interesting things, including the components of Harry Potter's wand."

The masked Death Eaters looked upon Harry with cold or pitiless glinting eyes, excepting Snape who remained prone on the ground. The answer was lodged in Harry's throat. These were the last people he'd wanted to know about his wand.

"Now, don't be shy, Harry. Tell them about your wand core," the mad wizard insisted slowly walking towards the greasy-haired Hogwarts professor. When Harry said nothing, Voldemort lifted his muddy foot and—

"It contains the tail feather of a Phoenix," Harry croaked out.  _Merlin, that hurt_. He would have rubbed his throat had his hands been freed.

The bone-white foot returned to the ground away from Snape's face as Voldemort chuckled. "But not just  _any_  Phoenix, Harry. Don't be so modest… Tell them why Lord Voldemort would be interested in  _your_  wand in particular."

Harry's chest clenched as his mouth dried out. "Our—" Harry winced and swallowed lowering the volume of his voice, "Our wands share tail feathers from the same Phoenix."

Voldemort craned his head back and laughed. "Do you see? Fate conspires to end me!" He spun away from Harry facing his followers once again. "Our wands are  _brothers_! Because of wand resonance, we would never be able to fatally wound one another in a duel... And that, dear Harry,  _that_  is simply something I wish to avoid, you understand? A Master of Death cannot leave his hands tied in this manner."

Aching from the long hold in the stone angel's arms, Harry grimaced not really following.

The evil wizard lifted Harry's holly wand. "This cannot continue to exist."

"No!" Harry's voice cracked.

Such a puny word uttered too late. With a sickening snap Harry's wand was broken in two. More snaps followed until there were four. Red string like floss hung from the center of the pieces as Voldemort dropped them on the ground. "There now. You can always get another wand from Ollivander… Tsk, tsk. No need to cry about it." The evil wizard laughed, and the Death Eaters joined in.

Harry was unashamed of his tears as they burned down his throat and cheeks. More than anything he wanted to see this wizard dead. His hatred and rage mingled with the soul-shard's. The combined might of it threatened to choke him as he glared down the twisted creature of what was once a man.

"Oh…" Voldemort crooned and reached out to touch his tears. Harry jerked his head to the side, but the cold, pointy-nailed fingers brushed his wet cheek anyway and then slowly cupped his chin and yanked his face forward. Cruel and curious crimson filled Harry's gaze. "To see you brought low has been my burning ambition since that fateful All Hallows' Eve. Do you know how everyone believes that  _you_  were my downfall, Harry?" The evil wizard whispered dangerously.

It was a little hard to miss the adulation of so many adults. Several memories flooded forth without Harry's permission, simply replaying his reactions for him. Voldemort's Legilimency was perhaps even less intrusive than Dumbledore's. A frightened noise came from the back of his throat.

"Ah, so you are aware of it… and you've scorned others for it, corrected them. You've never once believed a word of what they said about you. That the curse rebounding upon me was your doing alone, that you were the next Dark Lord. Very wise of you, Harry, to not let that  _celebrity_   _status_  addle your mind," Voldemort smiled in contentment, his red eyes piercing into places Snape had never touched. "After all, you nearly died when you attacked Quirrell in the depths of Hogwarts…"

Harry was drawn back to the desperate struggle over the Philosopher's stone, but the resurrected Voldemort was standing beside Harry in the memory as the eleven-year-old grappled for his life against the hunched adult.

The memory blurred to the Chamber of Secrets and the death cry of the basilisk from the harsh whisper of Dark magic. Voldemort inspected how Harry had his hands like a vice about Tom Riddle's throat. "…Had it not been for Severus you would have perished in the Chamber of Secrets." Memories of the greasy-haired bastard came to the fore, their every interaction scrutinized and parsed through. Voldemort seemed especially interested in watching the drama unfold in the memory where Harry had been recuperating after the Hippogriff attack. "You may justify his actions, but it was not a lesson as you believed. He counted on the fact that your trust and loyalty would not be so easily shaken, that your stubbornness would make you cling to him ever more. You hungered to trust someone, and he was the first who offered."

The cold hand drew slowly away from Harry's chin and the intrusion into Harry's thoughts and memories ended as easily as that.

When Harry's gaze had refocused, Voldemort was crouched over Snape who had yet to push off the ground. "So," the evil wizard breathed softly, "You decided to mentor Harry Potter until such a time that you could deliver him to me…?"

This was already information Harry knew. He looked at the other Death Eaters watching raptly.

"Yes, my Lord," Snape said quietly, "The boy cannot help but trust me, even knowing my full allegiance to you. He craves the company of competent individuals. One of many traits, I believe, he shares with you…"

A knife inside Harry twisted, nearly to breaking. No.

Voldemort giggled like the cursed soul-shard. "Rise, Severus… You have more than proven your loyalty to me by arriving here."

Once the Potions Master was on his feet, he was embraced tightly by Voldemort. Harry thought he might vomit at the sight of it, especially at the way Snape's face had softened in relief and admiration.

"My Lord if I might… make a suggestion about what is to be done with Igor Karkaroff," Snape murmured.

"Yes, yes.  _Once_  I've finished with the boy."

Harry looked away as soon as every eye fixed on him once more, his breathing hitched from anger, not fear. He had been taken in like a fool. Even now his mind refused to let go of its trust of Snape.

Black, magic-made robes softly swished. "Now, what shall I do with you?" Once again, a clamped hand forced Harry to look into inhuman eyes. "Your mind is so  _open_ …" Voldemort sighed with pleasure as he looked up at Harry's scar and then smiled again in a manner that might have been pleasant if he had a nose. He raised his wand and poked Harry in the cheek. His face tingled numbly.

"You said you wouldn't kill me," Harry reminded him flatly, unnerved by the close proximity of the evil wizard. He didn't believe that lie for a moment.

Several of the Death Eaters laughed, though Harry could not see them.

" _Silence!_ " Voldemort snarled out, and his followers went deathly quiet. He looked directly towards Snape instead of Harry. "Lord Voldemort keeps his promises… when he is able."

The bastard lowered his head in deference. As if murdering Harry's mum was so easily forgiven, as if Harry would ever forget that.

Only self-preservation kept Harry from saying, ' _What good are promises, if you cast them off on a whim?'_

Elegantly gliding towards his followers, Voldemort raised his wand at Malfoy and flicked it.

Immediately, Draco's father writhed in pain and agony, yelling hoarsely. Harry gritted his teeth to avoid screaming with him.

Voldemort lifted the wand again and the screams relented. "I gave you  _one_  order, Lucius, before my untimely demise," he enunciated very slowly and clearly, "And that was to protect my personal journal."

"It was  _lost_ , my Lord."

"Lucius… Lord Voldemort finds your lies of a  _failed_  political coup ill-timed." The wand flashed forward. " _Crucio!_ "

Again, the fine blond hair sliced through the air as the man screamed and thrashed. Only Snape seemed to notice Harry's painful spasms from the echo of the Torture Curse, all others were watching the Malfoy Patriarch brought low. Once Voldemort had finished, Harry's body relaxed and he wheezed to catch his breath. Then, Voldemort turned the wand upon Snape, and Harry's heart thumped painfully. "And you…  _destroyed it_.  _Crucio!_ "

Nearly blinded by the bloom of pain, Harry heard no sound besides ragged gasping come from Snape's prone, flailing form.

Finally Voldemort relented and then turned the wand upon Malfoy once more. "And you… after an insignificant slight against you, you  _dare_  attempt murder on my quarry?"

Prostrate on the soft ground, Malfoy crawled on his belly. His fingers dug into the hem of Voldemort's robes. "My Lord, I regret my hasty, ill-thought actions," the Malfoy Patriarch said hoarsely, "I never intended to take what was rightfully yours. Please forgive me…!"

"Lord Voldemort does not forgive and never forgets." Voldemort intoned coldly. Without warning, he flicked his wand at Harry, and light shot out from the madman's wand and struck his arm. He yelped in surprise, expecting pain but receiving none. Again, Voldemort came upon him before Harry had a chance to wonder what had happened. "There's so much bitterness at the Dursleys… so much anger over the court judgment after they mistreated you. Surely, you could ask me to slaughter those filthy Muggles? It would hardly be any trouble, Harry, to arrange it."

"You make me sick," Harry whispered roughly through clenched teeth. Fresh blood had trickled down his nose from his sore scar.

"Ah… you've seen right through me. Yes, Harry… I do wonder what it would take to turn you, you who crave family and a place to belong." Voldemort laughed again, gesturing towards the Death Eaters. "This is my  _family_."

" _You torture them_ ," Harry hissed in Parseltongue. His throat appreciated it.

"It is necessary, Harry. They must learn their Master, just as you will." With a swipe of Voldemort's hands, the statue dropped the young Slytherin bonelessly to the ground. The teen slowly groped at the fragments of his wand, sadness banding around his chest.

Nagini circled around Harry, who did not feel he had even the strength to stand. " _Are you done with him, Master?"_

" _No, Nagini, I have only just begun_." He paused, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Harry, tell me what it would take to turn you."

" _I'll **never**  join forces with you_." A weary Harry slowly pushed himself upright after he had tucked the broken pieces of his wand into his socks.

" **Harry** …" The raspy voice admonished, "That is not how you should speak to me."

" _Then I shall say it more clearly, **sir**_." Harry sent him a savage grin. "Go bugger yourself," he spat out. He didn't miss the incredulous looks on the Death Eaters' faces. Only Snape was indifferent.

" _Crucio!"_

It was pain beyond  _anything_  Harry had experienced, worse than the echoes he felt through his scar, worse than the very resurrection of the evil wizard before him. Harry's bone marrow was boiling, his nerves on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar. His eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end, to black out...

And then it was gone. He was lying limply on the ground. He breathed in deeply and coughed a little when his throat tickled. Specks of blood covered the palm of his hand.  _Still think he doesn't want to kill us?_ He directed at the place where the soul-shard should be. There was nothing but an answering keen, expressing a pain so profound and deep that even the Torture Curse was nothing compared to it.

Voldemort's vivid scarlet eyes looked down upon him. A dirt-encrusted foot pushed against Harry's cheek to turn his head. "Tsk, so pitiful…  _Oh_ , and yet still defiant! Yes, I see why Severus chose to mentor you. Only the strong  _survive_  my presence."

If Harry's tongue and mouth would cooperate, he would have told him to sod off.

"You see how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," Voldemort told his followers, "There should be no lingering notions of his supposed prowess. Harry Potter escaped me that day by chance." He raised his wand.

Harry knew what was coming: the Killing Curse.

"Lucius, Severus, help our Harry to his knees…" Voldemort's voice was happy and horribly satisfied.

Neither of them moved towards Harry, who dug his fingers into the ground to push himself up again.

"Surely there are other contenders more worthy of your Mark," A politician's voice said smoothly.

 _Mark_ …? Harry's mind was thrown into confusion, hands and knees digging into the soggy soil. His muscles shivered and spasmed involuntarily.

"Lord Voldemort does not want a  _child_  among his ranks, Lucius, and while your son has many of the qualifications he does not currently possess the maturity nor the strength of will I desire."

"And… the Potter boy does, my Lord?"

"Ah, Lucius. Thirteen years pass, and you grow enough spine to question Lord Voldemort's command…?"

Deathly silence surrounded them as Harry tried to stand, stumbled, and fell to his knees in the wet soil. His heavy breathing was the only sound for a few moments.

"Surely Lucius intended no slight, my Lord," Snape said carefully. "I myself doubt the wisdom of prematurely bringing the boy into the fold when he has the minutest skill at Occlumency."

"Ah, Severus… so lacking in creative vision." Voldemort paced in front of Harry as he again tried to stand. "I pose this question to you: How will the public react to knowing that the Boy-Who-Lived bears my Mark? If he dies, they will mourn him and fear me. If he survives, they will hate him as surely as they hate me, and still they will know that Lord Voldemort has risen from the dead and know  _fear_."

A shaky Harry forced himself up, up, all the way up. Dark fluid from his scar had dribbled across his face, blood leaked from his lips from where he'd bit into them. He knew that without his wand he could not flee, but he would not allow Voldemort to leave his mark on him. Harry would  _never_  accept it.

Voldemort giggled as he turned towards Harry. "You are already standing? Bravo, Boy-Who-Lived. Didn't that hurt?" His slit-like nostrils dilated with excitement.

"I'd… rather… die," Harry whispered, his voice sounding like grating glass. He would not obey or play along any longer. He was going to die and that was all there was to it.

"The brave words of a naïve youth. But you didn't answer my question, Harry," Voldemort's soft words warned him. "I asked you whether you wanted me to do that again…"

Harry didn't answer.

" _Imperio!_ "

And Harry felt, for the fifth time in his life, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought…. Ah, it was bliss, not to think, it was as though he were floating, merely  _dreaming_  of the terrible things happening to him.  _Just answer no, say no…_  A voice whispered seductively.  _Just answer no…_

I will not; I won't answer, the voice in the back of Harry's mind said.

_Just answer no…no harm will come of it. Say no… and this can all end._

" _I won't do it_ ," Harry's hissy words tumbled from his mouth as his jaw ached to do as it was commanded. "I WON'T!" The aggrieved words of the soul-shard echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him—back rushed the realization of where he was and what he was facing… Draco's father was staring at Harry with barely concealed shock.

"You won't?" Voldemort asked with a slightly puzzled tone as if Harry was not a beast he had seen before. None of the Death Eaters laughed.

The masked Death Eaters stared at Harry with a mixture of disbelief and bloodthirstiness.  _You will learn_ , their eyes seemed to say. Only Snape watched neutrally, some amusement flickering into his black eyes.

Harry didn't think he could speak from the state of his throat. " _I won't answer you_ ," he clarified in Parseltongue.

"Where are those precious manners…?  _Ah_ ," Voldemort circled around him, assessing and weighing his worth with crimson eyes. "You have fought for control and independence for such a long time. Yes, I see it all and do not blame you, Harry. It is what it is, but…  _obedience_  is a required virtue among my  _family_ …Perhaps another dose of pain will ease your transition?"

Voldemort raised his wand again, and as if the curse were a Bludger Harry reflexively dove behind the marble angel; it cracked from the force of the Torture Curse. The madman uttered a light chuckle. "I suppose that is an answer of itself. Come, Harry. You cannot hide from Lord Voldemort. You merely delay the inevitable."

There was no hope for Harry, no help to be had. Dumbledore was far away, and Snape was content to let his master do as he wished. As he heard Voldemort draw nearer, Harry knew one thing only, which was beyond fear or reason. He was not going to crouch here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he would not kneel at Voldemort's feet and accept the Dark Mark. Harry would die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible without his wand… A heavy wind roared through the garden. Leaves were kicked up and the sound of branches snapping filled the air.

As Harry stood up, he enacted wand movements without any wand and calculated the little bit of trajectory he could from Voldemort's hand to his. Throwing his wand-hand forward as well as his will and magic, Harry cried out in Parseltongue, " _EXPELLIARMUS_!"

Taken by surprise, the spell hit the evil wizard in the chest, and his wand flew to Harry. Harry caught it, and Voldemort's wand thrummed happily between his fingers. Hacking as his throat tickled, Harry bolted in the opposite direction and yanked the cloak from where he'd shoved it.

"GET HIM!" Voldemort's vexed voice hissed furiously.

A multitude of hexes and curses were lobbed his way as his lungs burned. Every bone, muscle, and joint ached from the Cruciatus Curse. Harry spun around covering himself with the silvery fabric.

"YOU FOOLS! DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!" Voldemort screamed.

Several voices rose and magic fell across the ground enforcing some sort of ward. Of what Harry wasn't certain, but a quickly applied Hastening Enchantment, doubled his speed and reaction time. His life depended upon it. His body tingled as he passed through several layers of wards, but not one magic made solid. The slower Death Eaters were behind him, their voices lowering into unintelligible words as Harry's senses heightened. He wouldn't have a chance if he stopped to think, especially with the short duration of the spell.

Curses and hexes sprung in his general direction, but totally missing. Harry scrambled up the wall and sprung over one-handed, landing in a tumble on the other side. The enchantment wore off at that moment, and shadows like black ink filled the sky above him. Harry applied another one, running just as spells dropped from above like angry bolts from a displeased god. There was one last tingle as he passed through another ward and then loud CRACKs too numerous to count. Whoever they were were meeting the Death Eaters head-on. Harry had to dodge a few to avoid getting hit. He risked a glance over his shoulder. Wizards and witches in Auror robes had arrived and were fighting in slow-motion with eight black-robed Death Eaters.

For long minutes, Harry's feet pounded against the ground. His head buzzed from the overuse of a power enchantment, the muggy summer breeze slapping his face. His chest hurt, his eyes watered, and still he ran, unforgiving of his body's pleas to stop. He couldn't stop. Harry knew he would die if he was caught and Marked.

Half-dazed, he passed several Muggle streets before he stumbled and collapsed on the curbside of a street named Dogwood. Harry panted hard, thinking of the next moves that would cement his escape. He had no broom—even if the Shooting Star was usable, he had left it behind. He had no Portkey to whisk him away from wherever he was nor did he know Apparation to pop easily to Hogsmeade. He doubted that any of the Muggle houses were connected to the Floo Network…

Suddenly sick from the heat and fear, he leaned over, and sour, brownish fluid poured from his mouth, burning his throat. He retched once and then drew his arm across his face. Despite the protest from his body, he continued onward at a slower, limping pace. Harry no longer had the coordination to run. What he needed… what he needed was a way available to stranded magical folk.

He paused as his mind grew fuzzy. He drew in very deep breaths to try to clear it. Emergency transport. What had Draco said about emergency transport? The memory crashed into him bright and clear, the complaint that a little spell couldn't be cast over the summer months.

Stopping at another street, Harry raised the stolen wand beyond the confines of his cloak, " _Lumos!_ " The end went bright, high above his head. The white-washed residential buildings around him gleamed with dew.

There was a deafening BANG, and Harry threw up his hands to shield his eyes against a sudden blinding light—

A triple-decker, violently purple bus had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering across its side spelled,  _The Knight Bus_.

A conductor leaned out the bus and began to speak loudly into the darkness. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike—"

Harry jumped onto the bus behind the unsuspecting man and moved until he'd crossed the threshold. Hearing the wizard drone on, Harry curled up in the corner. There were no seats; instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls.

"Huh, that's strange… Could've sworn someone flagged us—" Shunpike's voice screeched out. "ERN, HIT IT!"

Harry saw the conductor swing back inside, and then there was a tremendous BANG. The bus was suddenly moving violently. Harry found himself sliding right beneath the moving beds. From his perspective on the floor, the bus was turning in ways that shouldn't have been possible or sustainable for any length of time. Of course, magic.

Now that he felt safer, he thought over where he could go. He couldn't very well head to Hogsmeade. They'd be waiting for him there. He doubted the bus could take him directly to Hogwarts either. Nobody could pay Harry enough to go to the Dursleys. He could  _try_  Longbottom Manor, but Harry figured that would be expected as well. There were eight Death Eaters, who had given chase to Harry, and any who escaped the Aurors could split up and wait for Harry at any number of familiar places.

As the bus shuddered one way and the other, Harry ruminated. He couldn't very well stay  _here_  either.

"Best go wake, Madam Bones, Stan," the elderly driver, who had an extremely thick set of glasses like Professor Trelawney, said with a wavery tone, "We're nearly to her house."

Stan disappeared, but not a few minutes later he reappeared with a witch wearing a monocle and a flowing lavender cloak.

" 'Ere you go, Madam Bones," Stan said happily as Ern stamped on the brake and sent Harry sliding right back to where he started. His scar was beginning to throb.

_—"You let him get away?!" Voldemort snarled at a distance. Several voices rose up to defend themselves. "SILENCE! Lucius, your wand." The silver-knobbed wand was obediently passed over and then, "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"_

Biting down on his lip, Harry had tried not to reveal himself. As the pain built however, he screamed. Somebody walked their hands up along him and pulled away the Invisibility Cloak. They were saying something to him, but it hurt so much—it  _hurt_. His shredded vocal chords felt as if there were shards of glass within his throat.

And then Voldemort was done, and Harry was released from the grip of pain and consciousness.

* * *

In a lime-green set of robes, Samantha Pitts was peering down at him worriedly. "Are you alright, Mr. Cobb?"

"Where am I?" Harry sat up tiredly, clutching his throat and swallowing. Why was she calling him Mr. Cobb? He grabbed his Glaxxes, shoving them on his face. Her frowning face appeared before him in a brightly-lit, spacious room filled with empty beds. A yew wand and a lumpy sock with a bit of red floss sticking out were sitting on the table beside him. He was suspiciously barefoot and wearing patient robes.

"You're at St. Mungo's… A conductor from the Knight Bus said that three masked, black-robed figures converged on them in Godric's Hollow and that you must've summoned the Knight Bus to escape. Madam Bones thought you were suffering from symptoms of a Cruciatus Curse that's been held on you for too long. They  _were_  Death Eaters, weren't they?"

The emblem on her robes was of a bone and a wand crossed. Harry nodded hesitantly. He didn't feel safe here. "I need to go—"

"Where?"

"How long have I been here?"

"Only ten minutes, I just finished spelling potions into your stomach. You—"

Harry hopped off the bed, snatching up his Invisibility Cloak. "Sorry!" Before she could grab him, he'd wrapped it around him and grabbed Voldemort's wand and the sock that held his broken wand.

"Wait! I already Fire-Called—"

That was all Harry heard as he ran out the room and down the corridor, blindly taking left and right turns in the confusing layout. Far behind him he could hear Pitts cursing. Harry skirted past groups of healers and mediwizards with patients on floating stretchers. He slid to a stop at the sight of a map on the wall. He was on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The floor he was on had a banner with the name,  _Spell Damage_ , on it. His eyes traveled over the map. He'd take the stairwell downstairs on the far side of the building.

As he'd thought, nobody was there as he quietly opened the door and slipped inside. Two sets of stairs were before him, one going up and the other going down. First, he thought clearly of a more appropriate color than the eye-piercing green he was in and transfigured the robes into dark green ones that had the appearance of an outer set when it was no such thing. Still under the Invisibility Cloak, he galloped down the stairs, stopping at the level that had to be the ground floor even though the stairs looked like they continued down for many more floors. He snuck out, eyes peeled for another map, since there wasn't a convenient exit next to the stairwell as he had hoped. Another large map prominently showed only one exit; Harry had to go straight down the corridor to the Reception Area.

Heart fluttering, Harry rushed down the hall, dancing around the other people. Once there he looked around and saw visitors and hurt individuals trickling in. He quickly exited and then held the stolen wand above his head, " _Lumos!_ "

With a bang, the Knight Bus appeared once more. Harry quickly packed the Invisibility Cloak into an inner pocket.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike," the conductor began before looking at Harry. "Oh, hello Mr. Cobb. Feeling better?"

"Yes, I would like to be taken to the Weasleys' Burrow near St. Ottery-Catchpole."

"Eleven Galleons, for fare," came the stern reply. "Extra-charge for emergency drop at St. Mungo's and scaring the passengers witless."

From the pouch that held his Marauder's Map, Harry pulled them out. "Here."

Stan took the coins peering at them as if they weren't real. "Well, come on then, we don't have all night."

Harry hopped up the steps behind the conductor.

"You can take that bed over there, Mr. Cobb," Stan pointed.

As soon as Harry sat down, the entire bed lurched sliding to the back of the bus. It was enough movement to make most people lose their dinner. He looked outside the window at the dizzying array of things that either moved out of the way or the bus managed to squeeze through…

Whatever potions Pitts must have given him had worn off because when it was his turn to disembark, Harry limped off the Knight Bus. He tenderly stepped over the grassy uneven slope towards the squat home that was built around a very large oak tree. Behind him the Knight Bus let out another BANG and disappeared. Harry saw two garden gnomes stick their heads up curiously as he passed. They couldn't see him, of course, and ducked back down.

It was chilly enough that Harry's breath was misting beneath the cloak. He knocked on the door to the Burrow several times.  _Please be home, please let someone be home_. He would break in if he had to… even with threat of anti-burglary spells.

The light in the kitchen flicked on and Harry hurriedly dropped and opened the Invisibility Cloak so that from the front it would appear that he was there, whereas he would remain completely invisible from behind.

Molly Weasley in frumpy night robes opened the door, blinking at him tiredly. "Harry Potter…? What're you—" She waved him in. "Never mind that. Come inside before you catch death in this cold!" After shutting the door, Mrs. Weasley fussed over him, casting a Cleaning Charm on him before lighting a fire beneath the kettle on her stove with her wand. "Would you like some tea, dear?"

The dirt and mud and grime from Harry's skin and clothes were gone, but there was something unclean about him, something that didn't feel like it could be scrubbed off. Hand tightening around the stolen wand, Harry shifted uneasily. Looking around, he was overwhelmed by the coziness of the room helped by the low-slung ceiling beams. The thought of being followed here… The destruction of this nice family's sanctuary… Harry shuddered. They were the only ones he confidently knew were enemies of Voldemort. The Death Eaters would not predict that he ran here. "It's not safe…" He whispered painfully, "I've got to go somewhere else before they come here, the Death Eaters, they'll—"

" _Death Eaters_?" Mrs. Weasley's face came alive as she frowned, "Arthur! Bill!"

Feeling the panic try to draw him in, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak around him again and ducked beneath the very large table in the middle of the room. He stared towards the only other door to the room over the bench.

"What is it? What's wrong, Mum?" A long-haired, lean man with a dragon fang hanging from one ear popped his head in.

"Harry says he's been chased by  _Death Eaters_!" Molly hissed.

"Harry who?"

"Harry Potter!"

" _Oh!"_

"Where?" Arthur Weasley interjected looking around along with his son, Bill.

"Where—Harry? Where've you gone?"

Harry didn't feel anything, no guilt, no sadness. He drew the cloak tighter about him and tried not to breathe. Another wave of panic was drawing him across the room, threatening to come screaming out of his chest. He dug the nails of his left hand into the forearm of his right, eyes fixed on Voldemort's wand that looked like a dead tree branch with its grayish white, speckled appearance.

"Oh, oh dear. He … He's probably hiding, the poor dear. He was practically invisible when I let him in." Her eyes darted around the room. Then she sprang into action, darting toward her hearth and throwing in a handful of Floo powder. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office, Albus Dumbledore! Albus!"

"Oh my, Molly? What is it at this hour?" The headmaster's face appeared in the flames.

"Harry Potter arrived on my doorstep speaking of  _Death Eaters!_ "

"Say no more. Someone has been sent to escort him to Hogwarts." His tone abruptly mirrored Molly's urgency.

"Thank you headmaster, the poor dear is terrified." Molly stood up, brushing off her front.

"I feared we had lost him. He left St. Mungo's before he could be told that he was safe."

Was he safe? He didn't feel safe. Voldemort wanted to Mark him, and Harry had his wand, and Voldemort had tortured his Death Eaters when they failed to bring Harry back. Harry couldn't trust Dumbledore because he trusted Snape. Trembling, Harry remained where he was; he hoped this escort was Hagrid or Sirius… They were people Harry could trust.

There was a CRACK like a gunshot. The three Weasleys went to the windows furtively looking out to see who it was.

"Oh, good!" Molly unlocked the door with a wave of her wand.

"Severus," Mr. Weasley said warmly, while Harry's stomach dropped out, "You'll have better luck finding him than us. He disappeared the moment Molly turned her back to him."

 _Why_  had Dumbledore sent  _him?_  Harry's pulse jumped as adrenaline hummed through his veins. He wouldn't go down without a fight. His hold tightened on the wand which droned with eagerness.

Snape stepped around the room with a quiet purposefulness. "Please step out for a moment."

There was a murmured assent and they shuffled into an adjacent room. Harry tried to quiet his breathing and allow the void in his mind to expand…

"I suggest you barricade yourselves with protection spells," Snape said dryly.

"What—You can't seriously—doesn't he know that—" Mr. Weasley rambled not finishing one thought after another.

"He won't come willingly."

Of course not! Harry raged. Did they think he was stupid? Snape had been groveling in the graveyard with the rest of the Death Eaters!

The Weasleys—one of them made a small, pained noise—cast multiple spells.

Harry could see Snape's feet as he slowly walked to one side of the kitchen table. "The headmaster has commanded me to escort you to the hospital wing of Hogwarts."

Like an order from Dumbledore meant anything to a Death Eater! Harry screamed inside his mind. When Snape paused at the other end of the table farthest away from the exit door, Harry crawled out and stood. Violently he shoved his wand towards Snape. " _Flipendo!_ " Harry yelled harshly, pain tearing through his throat. After firing off the spell, he ducked and slid across the kitchen floor away from Snape who'd descended upon his previous spot after absorbing the spell in a nonverbal shield.

"Potter—!"

Harry threw another hex at him. Snape threw up another Shield Charm.

" _CANTIS! RICTUSEMPRA! DEPRIMO! TARANTELLGRA! SERPENSORTIA! ANTEOCULATIA! LOCOMOTOR MORTIS! IMMOBULUS! PETRIFICUS TOTALUS! LOCOMOTOR WIBBLY! FURNUNCULUS! REDUCTO!"_ Each guttural spell was absorbed into a shield. If only Harry knew what spell could shatter it…

His spellcasting faltered when his knees suddenly gave out. He was simply too mentally and physically exhausted to keep going and not one of his spells had hit the greasy-haired bastard… There was a very small snake that kept striking the bastard's boots ineffectually.

" _Relashio_!" The Death Eater growled.

Harry yanked the wand up. " _Protego!"_  The spell shattered.

The bastard's cheek had a tic to it as it often did when he was enduring intense irritation. He looked as exhausted as Harry felt.

The Slytherin straightened and stepped into a defensive stance, ready to deflect or block any spells the moment they came forward… Nonverbal spells flung through the air, and only Harry's reflexes managed to save him from many of them. He was panting with exertion now. Another spell shattered Harry's Shield Charm. It crackled and fell apart like putty before a knife. Harry was slammed backwards against the countertop behind him, elbow shinning itself against the sink's drain. " _Pro—"_ Harry was hit by a nonverbal Disarming Charm, and the wand flew into the Death Eater's awaiting hand. Harry panted, grabbing the cloak that had fallen by his feet.

"Not again,  _Potter_ ," the Death Eater snarled. He pointed his wand and wove a complex pattern with it in the air.  _"Incarcerous."_ Ropes exploded out of the end of his wand, grabbing Harry's limbs like four different Naginis.

" _I won't go back_ ," Harry hissed at him in Parseltongue, enjoying it when the bastard flinched.

With a snap of fingers, the free ends of the ropes jumped into his hand. The Death Eater turned sharply towards the worried-looking Weasleys. "Someone will be by in the morning to repair the damage—"

"Don't let him take me! HE'LL TAKE ME TO YOU-KNOW-WHO!" Harry's voice cracked painfully on each word. He fell into a coughing fit and the Weasleys were only giving him sad, pitying eyes. "HE'S A DEATH EATER—" Rope gagged him, and Harry fought the bonds viciously. Why weren't the Weasleys doing anything? His eyes widened. Of course! They  _trusted_ Snape because Dumbledore trusted him!

"Poppy will see to it that he is well taken care of," And then the Death Eater snapped his fingers again, and Harry was bodily dragged out of the Burrow. Harry struggled fiercely against the bonds, hissing muffled obscenities at the greasy-haired bastard, while he was dragged through marshy water. Snape would deliver him to Voldemort. He just  _knew_ it.

The Death Eater murmured something and the bonds came together spinning around Harry until he was cocooned. A wriggling Harry was lifted as if he weighed absolutely nothing. Snape spun around, arms like a vice around him.

The Apparation spat them out at the tall gates leading to Hogwarts grounds. Harry stilled in confusion the moment he saw Hagrid with his crossbow and Fang. "You got 'im!" The half-giant cried out happily. "Let me take 'im. Yeh don' look so well." Large arms cradled Harry, and he felt momentarily safe. He went quiet. "Poppy was madder than a pack o' Horklumps when yeh took off, 'Arry."

The Death Eater said nothing as they trekked to the castle. Harry stopped struggling the moment Hagrid cradled him. It was familiar and comforting that he drifted off.

Too soon, Harry was placed onto an empty bed in the infirmary. "Poppy'll take good care o' yeh. I got ter go."

He wasn't happy to see the half-giant leave.

"Severus! Oh, Harry! Thank goodness!" Madam Pomfrey bustled in and immediately pointed Snape to a bed. "You must rest here tonight or I will use unpleasant methods to detain you," She said sternly, taking Voldemort's wand from the Death Eater's slack fingers.

Eyes wide open, Harry watched with mounting confusion. The Healer trusted Snape as well. The bloody bastard had ingratiated himself to  _everyone_!

The Death Eater stated with deflated irritation, "Very well," and then collapsed gracelessly onto the indicated bed.

Harry watched with growing ire as Madam Pomfrey fussed over Snape, directing him to drink all manner of potions. To and from the potions cabinet she went, followed by a Dictus quill and a long roll of parchment. "There we are. Now, would you prefer a Sleepless Draught or the Poppy Lemox Potion?"

The Healer was sent a very vexed look. "I do not need either."

Madam Pomfrey tsked and set Voldemort's wand on the shelf below her Potions cabinet. Then she stepped a few paces to Harry's bed which was across the room from the bastard's. She waved her wand and the rope fell away from his mouth. "Harry? How are you feeling dear?"

Harry grimaced as he swallowed. "Awful," he said hoarsely.

"You would have felt better had you stayed at St. Mungo's…" she said sternly. With a swipe of her wand, the ropes were banished and Harry relaxed into the bed with a small noise of relief. After another swipe, Harry's Transfigured robes had been Switched out for pale blue patient robes.

He jumped out of bed. She tsked and pointed the wand at his backside. " _Adhaeriren!_ " Then she swiped her wand at him, and he found himself thrown back onto the bed.

Flat on his back, he blinked up at her.

"You've demonstrated on several occasions that you're a flight risk… I can't have you running out before you've fully mended." Madam Pomfrey cast several diagnostic spells and soon after gave Harry many vials of potion to drink. One of them soothed his throat so well that Harry's eyes watered.

A growly, grumbling noise emanated from across the room. Frowning, Harry tilted his head up and saw that the bastard had fallen asleep and was presently snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

"It's his sleep apnea," Madam Pomfrey said with a sigh, bustling over to the man's bed.

Harry pointed his finger at Voldemort's wand, concentrating on the line between the shelf and his hand. He closed his eyes using his best estimates for distance and then,  _"Accio_ wand," he said under his breath, and the wand miraculously jumped to his hand.

While Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over the Death Eater's pillows to rearrange them, Harry had cast the counter to the Adhere Charm and rolled out of bed.

Too soon, the snoring had transformed into heavy breathing. Harry was very nearly through the infirmary door when some invisible force grabbed him from the front of the robes and threw him backwards across the room. He landed with a noisy jangle of springs on the bed, bouncing lightly.

"Now, now. You don't think I've never dealt with  _your_  sort before, Harry?" Madam Pomfrey said. She flicked her wand at the wand clutched in Harry's hand, and it jumped to her. The Healer propped her hands on her hips and gave him a very stern look.

Harry flushed. "I am  _not_  sleeping in the same room with the likes of  _him_. He's a Death Eater and You-Know-Who's spy. I saw him with the others—"

Madam Pomfrey tutted. "I well understand your unease." Her lips twisted for a moment and then she turned waving her wand. Dividers flew up and surrounded the bastard's bed, and Harry could no longer hear him breathing heavily. "Unfortunately, you will have to deal with his presence. Neither of you are leaving this room for several days."

"You can't keep me here," Harry said loudly, "I'll get out—" Harry's stomach suddenly felt uncomfortably full… he wondered why his mouth and tongue was tingling numbly… Surely she wouldn't  _poison_  him?

"Rest well, dear. You need it," she said gently.

Harry had only heard part of what she said before he passed out.

* * *

Slowly he came to a warm awareness. Harry lifted a hand to his face and scratched the itch on his jaw. It was quiet… but there was a low buzzing to the room. Harry's eyes shot open and he sat up, heart pounding. He grabbed the Glaxxes folded next to a warped, piece of curved glass attached to a stand. Harry blinked at the empty Foe-Glass after he put his glasses on. Then he looked around. The Hogwarts infirmary came into view. His eyes drifted across the room to where he remembered Snape had collapsed onto a bed. Framed blinds still ringed it, so he must still be recovering—

A loud sigh emitted from the bed next to him, startling Harry soundly. He blinked down at his godfather who was fast asleep.

Harry was struck with a nasty thought. Godparents had an odd sixth sense with their godchildren, so…  _why hadn't Sirius rescued him_?

Exhaling softly to calm the anger that had boiled in his chest, Harry decided he did not want to stay and chat if his godfather was this unreliable.

Leaning, Harry then  _attempted_  to swing his legs over the bed's edge. Unfortunately, someone had Adhered him to the bed again. No matter how he shifted, the linens and mattress refused to budge, which meant they too were Adhered to each other and the bedframe. A cursory scan of the room showed no sign of the stolen wand and thus he couldn't summon it... In frustration, Harry waved his upper torso violently to the right and left. The bed rattled underneath him, jarred by the movement. A small smile came upon his face. Someone hadn't thought to Adhere the bed to the floor!

He rocked, experimenting how his thrashing converted into the bed's movement, until it was hopping and scraping noisily in an erratic fashion across the infirmary. Harry thought that Madam Pomfrey might be elsewhere if the noise hadn't brought her in yet.

" _Stop that infernal racket!_ " Snape's voice whipped out from behind the curtains.

"Oh, what?  _This_?" Harry jerked around for maximum clamoring of the bed's feet against the stone floor.

" _Potter,_ " a voice snarled out, sounding like the voice of a demon from the depths of the darkest circle of hell,  _"Poppy will not find all the pieces of you should I be forced to secure my own peace and quiet!"_

"What've you done with my—with the wand?" Harry was looking at the curtains as if he could see straight through them.

"The headmaster has it," the voice was drained.

"You must have given him a fake."

There was a long pause. "…I could not refuse Dumbledore."

"Well, I suppose I'll ask Dumbledore for it then."

A drawling, irritated voice sneered, "I sincerely doubt the headmaster will allow you to keep a trophy of your little misadventure."

"Trophy? No... It's mine now. Fair trade since  _he_  broke my wand."

A silence so solid blanketed the room.

Harry hopped the bed towards the exit door again.

" _Quit it!_ "

"Oh, sorry," Harry said lightly, "Thought you might have fallen asleep, and I don't want you getting comfortable. Not after you groveled and prostrated yourself in front of Lord Vole."

"The headmaster trusts me," Snape said with a clipped tone. Harry was sure that the Death Eater only curried favor with the headmaster in order to feed information to Voldemort.

"You may have him fooled, but not me! He didn't see the look on your face when you knelt before Vole. He didn't see the worship and admiration in your eyes, and then you smiled, you  _sick bastard_! You were  _happy_  to return to him!" Harry roared. "You make me  _sick_!"

Again the silence.

"You know what's even worse? Worse than knowing I can't trust you?" Harry felt the hot tears rush down his face, but he didn't care any longer. " _He_  didn't keep his promise to you and you still went back!" Harry was sobbing now. " _He murdered my mum_ ,  _who had to be the kindest, smartest person in the world, and you don't even care_!" Not a word, not a whisper, not a sound in response! "I'll never be able to meet her, and it's  _your bloody_   _fault,_ " he screamed hoarsely.

When there was no response, a violent urge overtook Harry. His hands wanted to wrap themselves around Snape's throat and squeeze until he stopped breathing. He maliciously hopped the bed towards the blinds. His bed crashed against the frames, and they hardly budged. "I HATE YOU!" The greasy-haired bastard had given Harry a home, a place to belong, but he hadn't done it for Harry. No, it was all for his mother's murderer.

A ferocious wind tore through the infirmary slamming through the obstacles in his path to revenge, blowing them onto the bed currently occupied. Harry was reaching forward, summoning magic, twisting it to his will. He would  _kill_  this one, who dared—

"Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey's voice rang out, but it seemed so far away, so distant as black fury roared through Harry. A bright jet of blue hit him, and Harry froze where he sat, hands outstretched, expression wrathful. His breath whistled through his clenched teeth. Every muscle in his body cried to be released from their tense stasis. Freezing Charm, his mind informed him dimly. The called magic retreated, sparking into nothing.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw her wave an arm and immediately his bed made an unholy din as it bobbed and walked its way back to where it had originally been placed before Harry had started. Another wave of her wand and the curtained blinds hopped back to their correct orientation. "Are you alright, Severus?"

"Yes," came the tight response, "Potter was disturbing my rest with his trivial tantrum. Might I be placed in my own quarters to continue recuperating?"

Trivial? TRIVIAL?! Harry's mind roared. He could only form short bursts of angry noise in the back of his throat. Neither of them looked towards him.

"I was just coming to fetch you. Do you think you can stand?"

"I can manage, Poppy." The black-robed Death Eater arose stiffly from his bed and stepped very gingerly towards the Healer, whose back was to Harry. Harry continued making noises of displeasure at him. "I'm surprised Black hasn't woken from the ruckus his spoiled godson is making," the greasy-haired bastard said as Madam Pomfrey walked in step beside him. The Death Eater soon passed out of Harry's line of sight.

Harry tried screaming at him, but could only gurgle insensibly. The tears were drying on his cheeks, causing them to itch uncomfortably.

"I gave Sirius a double course of Poppy Lemox and Dreamless Sleep Draught. He was in a bad way when Remus brought him in. Remus said he followed Sirius to Albania. He's very lucky he hadn't Splinched himself Apparating at such great distances."

So his godfather  _had_  tried to follow him…?

"He's an idiot if he thought the Dark Lord didn't think he would try to interfere," the bastard sneered, his voice fading as the distance grew between them and Harry. "I warned Dumbledore that the Dark Lord intended to send Black on a wild goose chase over half of Europe."

"Sirius has always been too stubborn to listen to sense…"

Harry could no longer hear them as they had traveled too far away from him. Alone and frozen in place, Harry was left with his thoughts and memories, neither of which he wanted to reflect on. He tried to center himself like Luna had taught him, tried to just  _be_  but he felt  _more_  stuck than ever. Anger and frustration was beating inside of him like a second heart, a heart pounding like a steady drum.

Something had changed inside of him when Voldemort had touched his scar in the graveyard… The memories, fresh and sharp like newly processed photographs, flashed their glossy surfaces enticingly at him. Inwardly, Harry trembled. He didn't want to remember. Didn't want to see Oke kneeling on the ground with that maniac grin on her face… Voldemort's tightly balled body rising from the cracked cauldron's husk… The newly-made body unfolding… the spreading fire and heat, melting the broken cauldron into slag beneath bone-white feet… the same that had dug its toes into Harry's face after he'd been tortured for being cheeky… Giddy laughter gurgled in Harry's throat, arms and expression frozen in a position of mute rage. He'd done it. Done what he'd said he'd do: remain defiant to the evil wizard who'd murdered his parents.

There was a soft rush of wings and a brilliantly plumaged bird perched on the arched metal frame of the bed in front of Harry. His breath whistled as he inhaled hard. It was Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix. The bird blinked peacefully at him. There was something comforting in his warm gaze, even if Harry was unable to reach out and stroke Fawkes' beautiful red-and-gold feathers. There was the soft whisper of someone's robes trailing the floor into the infirmary, and then the Freezing Charm unclenched its hold on Harry's body. He slumped forward in relief, muscles screaming their discomfort from maintaining a position for so long.

"Misbehaving, Harry? As you can see, Poppy takes her Healing Art very seriously…" The headmaster spoke very calmly, very evenly… Harry could hear that the warmth was calculated to a pointed precision, that it was forced. If he hadn't just faced down Voldemort, Harry might have never noticed.

Instead of responding, Harry tilted his head to look up at Fawkes again, who hopped onto the bed next to his leg. The phoenix's head bobbed as he stepped nearer to Harry's hand and then lightly pecked Harry's fingers. The Slytherin startled and then lifted a hand to stroke the awaiting head. " 'Lo, Fawkes," he whispered reverentially. A deep calm filled him as the creature's magic trickled into him. It felt wonderful, like riding a broomstick on a cool, sunny day.

"How are you feeling?" The headmaster asked kindly.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed his hands against the mattress so that he might sit up. He looked at Professor Dumbledore's grandfatherly appearance and realized it was a fraud, a sham, a mask. There was a sinister quality to him now and it frightened Harry. "Better if I had my wand back."

The headmaster looked upon Harry thoughtfully and then reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a collection of four splintered twigs bound together with twine. "It is… I am afraid, not repairable."

Dumbledore set it in Harry's outstretched hand, and he very nearly started to cry when it hummed a greeting. Nothing could stop the tears. His wand remained faithful to him and now it was broken, sad that it could no longer help him and aware of Harry's anguish.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered to it. "I'd only just gotten to know you…" He wondered… where did broken wands go? Were there shops that ground them down and used them to make something else, like glue factories for horses? Harry swallowed convulsively, cupping the bound up pieces of his wand.  _He_  wouldn't do that.  _He_ wouldn't throw his wand away just because he couldn't use it anymore. The wand seemed to thrum in his hands, and a fiery glow erupted between his fingers. Harry opened his hands to see that the pieces had begun to dissolve with fire that didn't touch him.

"What're you doing?" Harry said with a strangled tone. Whatever was happening was quickly gaining speed, until all that was left of the bundle was a pile of glittery red sand. Tears rushed faster down his face and then a sob. "What've you done to yourself?" A hand grasped Harry's shoulder, and Harry looked up at him. "Can't  _you_  do something?"

"I cannot." The old wizard flicked his fingers. A white cloth pouch floated into view and opened. The sand siphoned from Harry's cupped palms straight into the cloth bag. Dumbledore grasped the strings and closed the pouch, setting it into Harry's shaking hands. "Your wand wishes to continue serving you in another form, Harry."

"No,  _no_ , you change it back! You're the most powerful wizard in the world—there  _has_  to be some way to Transfigure it back into my wand!"

"Many, many wizards and witches have wasted their lives attempting to do the very same… it cannot be done."

Harry was feeling distant and numb… he could hear the other person breathing heavily, the other person clutch the bag in despair.

"Harry…" The person-who-wasn't-Harry looked up into blue eyes that were too steely to be truly warm. "I need to know what happened after Diggory touched the Portkey and before Lord Voldemort's supporters arrived."

When the person looked quickly at the floor to avoid Legilimency, the headmaster leaned forward crouching so Harry was forced to look into those very blue eyes.

"If I thought I could help you," the headmaster said gently and that was when Harry finally saw the softness in the older wizard, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it."

Harry was suddenly very aware of his body again, the way his breath kept catching in his chest, the rapid pulse in his throat, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears…

"Alas, dear Harry, numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it…"

But Harry couldn't think straight, all he wanted to do was roll out of bed and hide in the darkness beneath it… somewhere comfortable and dark where he wouldn't be scared anymore…

"You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. Now, I ask once more for you to demonstrate your courage: I ask you to tell me what happened."

Fawkes let out one, soft quavering note, which shivered in the air. Harry felt as though a drop of hot liquid had slipped down his throat into his stomach, warming him, strengthening him. His fingers no longer felt icy…

He took a deep breath and began, "Diggory left. I was beating myself up for being stupid enough to not think the Portkey was still active or I could have…" He looked forlornly at the white pouch sitting innocuously in his hand. Visions of everything that had passed the night of June Fourth rose before his eyes. Now that he had started, it was easier to keep talking. "I thought I was in Little Hangleton at first… at the house on the hill where the gardener was murdered… Beside me was a large statue of an angel holding a scythe. On it read, Tom Riddle. There was an enormous cauldron next to it, and I… I fled…"

Harry was brought back to that moment hiding under the gauzy cloak, desperately trying to keep himself quiet. Fawkes trilled lightly and Harry was again aware of the springy mattress beneath him. "Crouch used a spell that trapped me, a sphere of some kind. He disarmed me and locked me against the gravestone… Then Ms. Oke showed up, said they should start immediately. Bertha Jorkins threw Vole into the potion and started screaming when the Imperius Curse was broken."

And Harry saw the shimmering surface of the resurrection potion, dismembered fingers slowly falling to splash into the large bubbling cauldron, until Fawkes called him back again. Harry described the ceremony, including how it was almost sabotaged by Diana's Blessing. There was a dark purple bruise on his forearm where it used to be. Harry grimaced as he cupped it. Professor Dumbledore didn't say a word as he peered down at his arm. The Slytherin continued the retelling, how Voldemort had resurrected, how Jorkins had given up. "When…" I stopped screaming, Harry almost said, "when I was able to open my eyes… Vole was there, nose-less and bald with bone-white skin and blood-red eyes. He asked Crouch for his wand and then pressed it against the brand on Crouch's arm. That's when the Death Eaters appeared."

Professor Dumbledore straightened out of the crouch he'd maintained all this time.

"Then, he touched my face, my scar. It  _hurt_ , but… it didn't hurt him. He was smiling, sir." The old wizard looked drawn and weary as Harry had ever seen him. "Sir, why did he break my wand because it shared a core with his?"

There was an arrested look on Dumbledore's face as he turned towards Harry.

" _Priori Incantatem,"_  he murmured softly, as his gaze met Harry's confused eyes.

"Reverse Spell Effect?"

"Yes, two wands with shared cores will not work properly when used against one another. Whatever intended spells meet would cancel out, reverting to  _Priori Incantatem_."

"How did Bertha Jorkins know about my wand's core? I've never told anyone," Harry said.

"The Ministry investigated your wand's properties when you were accused of using a Hovering Charm outside of school. I became aware of it myself only because Ollivander sent me a letter after you had bought the wand from his shop."

Harry frowned. "Why would he do that?"

"We are good friends, Ollivander and I. He knew I would keep it secret and that I would find it most interesting, considering that it was Fawkes who supplied the tail feathers to him."

"My wand's—" Harry looked down at the white pouch and immediately amazement and joy leaked out of him. He staunched the despair and looked up to Fawkes with watery eyes. "Thank you, Fawkes."

The phoenix trilled beautifully at Harry, and the teen hung his head back basking in the warmth, allowing it to seep into the dark, cold places… even if the chunk of ice abrading his mind refused to thaw and froze colder in defense.

"Thank you, Harry, for telling me what happened." Fawkes teased out another note and flew to perch on Professor Dumbledore's shoulder. "You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it. Suffice it to say, there is another reason why the Ministry placed precautions on the age of the Quadwizard entrants. While by Wizarding law you are considered Underage, by passing all three Tasks set before you in the Quadwizard Tournament, your magic has fully embraced you as Head of your bloodline. I will return the key to your vault to you as soon as you have recovered. Once your godfather awakens and discovers what has come of your wand, I believe he will take you to Ollivander's for a new one."

Harry's mind sharpened. "I want Vole's wand. You owe me that much."

Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Once Ollivander has replaced the handle, I will return it to you… Madam Pomfrey informed me that you used it without any ill effects." The phoenix trilled and the old wizard stroked the feathers of Fawkes' plumage. "Now, rest. You need peace and quiet before your future trials begin. I have told Madam Pomfrey that no visitors are allowed… However, Dobby—"

A soft crack sounded. "Dobby is needed, headmaster, sir?" The little house-elf squeaked, still wearing the pair of green-and-silver striped socks Harry had given him for Christmas.

"Not at present. However, should Harry need anything… You will keep him well accommodated, hm?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" The house-elf took a golfer's hat from his head and wrung it anxiously in his hand. "Dobby will be keeping Harry Potter very well taken care of, sir!"

"Thank you, Dobby." The headmaster looked to Harry as the house-elf quieted respectfully. "Are there any other questions for me, Harry?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Are any of the Death Eaters dead?"

"Ah… All but Macnair slipped away. He is awaiting trial."

"Sir, how did you know about… about what I did when I woke up?"

The headmaster peered intently at the Foe-Glass sitting on the table next to him.

Harry flushed with embarrassment, knowing that the headmaster had heard every word of his outburst.

"Rest well, Harry. You certainly deserve it." Professor Dumbledore said and then left the infirmary with Fawkes on his shoulder.

Harry rather missed the phoenix the moment Fawkes left his sight. He leaned back onto pillows that Dobby had just fluffed. "Dobby, what did you do with my socks?"

The little house-elf immediately twisted his ears, looking at the floor with shame.

"Dobby…"

"The great Dumbledore said I could protect the great Harry Potter if only I left the  _special_  socks for you to wear on the day of the Final Task. Dobby is so wicked! So, so wicked, sir!"

"Dobby, stop that!" Harry grabbed the house-elf's hands. "Why? What made them special?"

"Why… in the case that sir was ferreted away so that the great Dumbledore could find Master Harry," Dobby squeaked, a slight flinch to his features.

"A tracking charm woven into it?"

"Six yards of Always-Found Yarn knitted into a pair of socks by a powerful wizard, sir."

Harry stared into those over-large eyes. "More potent than a charm, I take it. Then why couldn't he find me?"

"That place was Unplottable, sir. Harry Potter could not be Found there unless someone knows where that Un-plot is, who also holds the empty spool from the Always-Found yarn. Once sir had left the location, he was… Found." Dobby drew his hands from Harry's. "What is Harry Potter needing?"

"A light snack and something to drink. And my book on Lionsnakes, it should be in my trunk."

"Dobby will do as Master Harry commands!" He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Staring up at the vaulted ceiling, Harry wished he wasn't stuck to the bed… He glanced at his godfather's drawn face. Harry smiled a little thinking of how he would stay with him for the summer.

Perhaps it was not so bad to be alive.


	20. Resolutions and Preludes

Waking came slowly as the grey surrounding came grudgingly to life. The mustiness of old stones and the antiseptic smell hanging in the air told Harry that he was still in the Hogwarts infirmary. His hand immediately went to the weight on his breastbone.

The leather pouch that Professor Dumbledore had given him hadn't been taken with what was left of his wand was inside. Obviously, someone had made a necklace of it. It was probably Dobby. Silently thanking the busybody house-elf, Harry squeezed the pouch tightly in a fist and took in a tight breath. Attempting to move his legs or torso failed. Madam Pomfrey must have Adhered him to the bed again, so he couldn't do more than raise his arms, turn his head, twist his neck, shrug shoulders, and wiggle his feet.

As soon as he set his glasses on his face, Harry saw that the bedside table was crammed with vases of magical flora, sweets, and get-well notes. There was also an envelope with his name on it. Reluctantly he let go of the pouch.

 _Sirius is gone?_  From the awkward angle, he could look about the empty room of neatly made beds and blinds pushed against the walls and felt disappointment well up. He stretched an arm to pick the letter awkwardly. With a pleased noise, he snapped it up between his fingers and quickly dropped it on him before it slipped from his grasp and onto the floor.

Opening it, Harry let his eyes quickly scan over the fine calligraphy, which reminded him of the writing from Draco's mum years ago.

_Harry—_

_As much as I would love to stay and watch over you, I have urgent tasks to complete in the three days you're supposed to be under. In addition, the Black ancestral home is not even fit for the doxies that no doubt have taken residence within it. I will be back before the term is out. I promise._

_With love,_

_Sirius Black_

Setting it down, Harry looked at the extended bedside table full of a variety of gifts. It was much more than his first year and had spilled over the floor too. Absently, he wondered how Diggory had gotten on after he returned to Hogwarts grounds. Had the Hufflepuff officially won the Quadwizard Tournament?

"Poor dear agonized over the wording," Madam Pomfrey said, nodding towards the letter in Harry's lap.

Harry chuckled finding the idea of his godfather lacking confidence ludicrous. "Sorry?"

"I had to Vanish a good twenty sheets of used parchment. He hated leaving you alone without a proper apology. It seems he felt guilt about leaving you alone. Nonsense, I say." She tutted, brushing the long green strands of one lopsided flower that had petals of silver. It was a futile gesture as the plant slowly leaned back to its original position.

Wanting to deny that his godfather should hold any blame, Harry held the words back. "I wish he wouldn't blame himself. I'm the one who hadn't grabbed the Portkey with Diggory."

"Don't you start that. I hoped you had better sense than him." The healer shook her head. "Neither of you have any blame in this situation. You did an admirable job escaping after being swept into  _that_   _one's_  evil schemes. Your safe return was the best gift I've had all year."

"Have I had any visitors?"

With a nod, the healer negligently gestured towards the gifts next to his bed. "You have. The most persistent was Wynch. He came by many times. Lucky thing he had. He mentioned that he had a feeling that there was something wrong, you see. If he hadn't noticed, I wouldn't have caught the earliest, very subtle symptoms of core damage from your inexpert nonverbal channeling until the damage was irreversible." She lightly sighed, a hand going to the bun to check that stray hairs hadn't escaped the numerous pins. "I hadn't even considered that you could cast nonverbally at your age, and I do feel bad that I missed the indicators. It was why you were under for as long as you were. After all, patching a person's MVS is delicate work best done while the patient is in a potion-induced coma."

So, he had been insensate for days. Little wonder there were as many gifts as there were. "Would I have been a Squib, if he hadn't?"

She placed her hands on her hips, looking sternly at him. "You aren't yet out of the woods, but the short answer is yes, if you survived the MVS collapse. If you take it easy where casting is concerned, you'll be fit as a fiddle before the month is out."

Harry looked at his hands, particularly at the callouses developing on his fingers from holding a wand and waving it about. He gazed at them all delighted that Wynch had watched out for him when Harry most needed it. "You're a lifesaver, Madam Pomfrey. I would have hated to lose my magic."

Her face crinkled with concern. "Better your magic than your life." She patted the front of her white apron down. "Now, I will remove the Adherence spell so you can stretch your muscles for the next hour and accept a few visitors. If I so much as get a hint of you wishing to sneak away, you won't be leaving your bed until I discharge you. Is that clear?"

Harry couldn't help the grin. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey."

She waved her wand, and Harry luxuriated in his ability to move about. As he sat up, vertigo swamped him, but he caught himself.

"Be easy with yourself," she warned.

He took a deep breath, nodding. "So, who's first?" Remaining where he sat, he stretched his back by raising his weak arms over his head and then folding forward to touch his toes. He remained where he was a bit to catch his breath. He felt strangely raw. Perhaps it wasn't so strange. He had been hit with Unforgivables by Voldemort and severely overexerted himself in his frantic getaway.

"Aurors. They have been twitchy to get a firsthand report of your abduction ever since Albus announced that you would be recovering here." Her frown turned a bit annoyed. "If you hadn't a godfather, Minister Fudge would have convened the Wizengamot to have you moved to St. Mungo's. Hmph, as if my care were so substandard that healers I personally trained could do better."

Harry sat up and smiled. "Let's get their visit over with then."

"Would you mind terribly if I stand by?"

"No, it's alright, considering that I feel about as weak as kitten," Harry answered. He was rewarded with a beaming smile before the healer swept away to grant admittance to the Aurors standing outside the double doors. Shortly, there came a familiar noise.

 _Clunk._ Thump. _Clunk._ Thump.  _Clunk._

Harry looked up at the ex-Auror, who was followed by Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks. They stopped short of the foot of his bed and gazed at him.

"Before you begin," Madam Pomfrey announced beside him, "as Mr. Potter's attendant healer, I reserve the right to cast you out."

"Of course, Healer Pomfrey." The broad-shouldered Head Auror with a single gold loop in his ear smiled. "We wouldn't dream of bringing any more harm to your charge. We just have a few questions. If we may, Mr. Potter?"

As soon as Harry consented, Professor Moody scrutinized him from top to bottom and nodded curtly. "Roll up your sleeves."

Complying with the strange request, Harry looked between the Aurors. That's when it struck him that they were checking for Voldemort's brand. Harry felt his face go hot, and he rolled his sleeves down angrily. Before Harry's temper was unleashed, Mad-Eye Moody thumped his staff and huffed in approval. His eye whirled in its socket, until only white showed towards Harry.

"I told you lot that he's without it," Madam Pomfrey said fiercely. "Have you satisfied your morbid curiosity?"

"It is a relief that one rumor was definitively proved false," Auror Tonks said a bit too cheerfully.

"If you ask me," came Moody's gruff response, "you've got bigger allegations than whether the Boy-Who-Lived survived a Marking from a Dark Lord. Say, the  _resurrection_  of said Dark Lord."

All three adults turned to Harry, who nodded tensely. "It's true. He used me to resurrect himself. Lord Vol—" Harry took a deep breath. "Lord Voldemort is back. He wants to 'usurp control' from the Ministry."

"Do you mind if we get that in writing?"

"That's fine," Harry said, watching the large wizard pull out a magical quill to place on the floating scroll he had taken from a pocket. "So long as it's actually accurate."

"It's a Transcription Quill, so it better well be," he said and then nodded. "Mr. Harry James Potter, you were witness to a dreadfully Dark ceremony. Did you also recognize any of the Death Eaters around you?"

"Yes." Harry hesitated. He didn't care about either Ms. Oke or Crouch, Jr, but spilling the beans about Lucius would enrage Draco. As for Snape, it was a simple decision.

At his long silence, Shacklebolt and Tonks exchanged a knowing glance. "How many?"

Harry opened his mouth, but the steely grip of the soul-shard crept up. "There were nine, but only four I knew," Harry's lips answered as if it were very difficult to do so. He wrenched out of its grip. "I recognized all of them. Linda Oke from the States was one of them. So was Barty Crouch, Jr. The other two…"

Mad-Eye leaned forward on his staff with his lips pursed in an unfriendly manner. "We know of the other two, since one is an informant of ours. With your testimony and his, Lucius Malfoy won't be able wiggle away this time."

Harry blinked up at him. "…Sorry,  _Severus Snape_  is a spy?"

Auror Shacklebolt bobbed his head secretively, while Auror Tonks grinned broadly towards the Head Auror. The bobbing quill paused from its smooth scribbling when no one else spoke.

With a pensive look, Moody rubbed his jaw. "He's a known double-agent to the Wizengamot. How else did you think he was kept from Azkaban? It was always a possibility that he would be needed in the future since the Death Eater's soul brands hadn't faded completely."

"You've got to be joking. You'll trust  _him_?" Molten fury curled in Harry's gut, which must have appeared on his face for their faces grew more serious.

Auror Tonks raised a hand and waved it to the side. She simply said, "You-Know-Who would have killed him ages ago if he couldn't play a convincing toady."

"You  _trust_  him too?" Harry spat out, as an ache spiked from his forehead in conjunction with his anger. He held his head as it grew worse. A breeze with no source teased the blinds standing around them and their clothes, leaving Harry untouched. He glared at them. "He's on Voldemort's side! Why can't you see that?"

"That's enough, Harry," the firm voice of Madam Pomfrey said, placing a gentling palm on his shoulder. "You haven't mended from your ordeal in Godric's Hollow. Rousing your temper will only delay your recovery."

Harry allowed himself to be eased back onto the bed as vertigo swamped him. He was out of breath and dizzy as if he had run thousands of meters on a track without properly hydrating himself. "Snape is a servant of  _him_! Why can't you see that?"

The Head Auror sighed. "Harry, the Wizengamot won't accept your testimonial alone. You aren't of age yet, and Dumbledore vouches for him. Regardless of your personal crusade against Potions Master Snape—"

Harry nearly jumped out of bed, but Madam Pomfrey firmly kept him lying back. "Well, tell the headmaster to stop protecting that bloody Death Eater! Sirius was right. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater!" Pain bloomed in his head, and he folded on his side clutching it. The ringing noise in his head morphed into cackling. The soul-shard blotted out everything else for a time. When Harry reopened his eyes, he was momentarily confused since he was flat on his back and tucked into the bed. There was a commotion between several new voices. With some effort, he tiredly grabbed his Glaxxes again and placed them on his face.

"See here, Auror, Dumbledore has kept the Boy-Who-Lived from a team of qualified Healers in St. Mungo's. Aurors can't continue to keep the Minister out of matters that concerns the Ministry of Magic!"

"I fail to see how. Mr. Potter hasn't been a ward of the Ministry for years," Auror Tonks said brightly. "Just recently Sirius Black went before the Wizengamot on his adopted son's behalf, didn't he?"

Minister Fudge blustered a bit, but he was far less intimidated than Harry ever remembered him being. "You're deliberately preventing me from corroborating hearsay!"

"Minister Fudge, we haven't finished questioning him ourselves. His health is not what it should be due to the Cruciatus Curse he was subjected to," the Head Auror said calmly, physically blocking the minister from pushing forward. The pudgy wizard sputtered.

Harry slowly tilted forward and saw that Aurors Proudfoot and Savage had joined the others at the foot of his bed with Minister Fudge on the other side of them.

"Ah! Harry, you're awake now," the minister beamed, while Harry blinked sluggishly at him. "I have the most urgent of questions for you."

Madam Pomfrey politely raised a hand to forestall any interruption. "Mark my words, Minister. I will cast you out of the hospital wing if you cannot maintain a modicum of respect for this space. Harry Potter was badly injured after his kidnapping. Your questions, no matter how urgent, do not supersede my authority on the matter," she said evenly.

"But it will take very little time to verify," the minister complained. "I only need a few moments." He huffed angrily when she didn't immediately give into his demands. "The boy is the only  _viable_  witness to the so-called Resurrection Ritual of You-Know-Who. I will not take Dumbledore's words at face value when I suspect foul play at work."

Harry slowly sat up. "I saw the ceremony with my own eyes, Minister Fudge," he said tiredly. Every adult turned to look within their protective barrier. Auror Tonks' expression was more reserved than normal. Matching frowns of disapproval were on Auror Shacklebolt's and Madam Pomfrey's face, while the other adults seemed somewhere between relieved and agitated. "There was a circle of Death Eaters, but four weren't wearing masks. I know who they are."

Minister Fudge budged his way through the Aurors. "And because we were able to find evidence of their nefarious plot to create mass pandemonium, Barty Crouch, Jr. and Linda Oke are now known fugitives."

"And the other two?"

"Both Lucius and Severus are in Auror custody. We take charges of Death Eater activity very seriously," the Minister simultaneously reassured Harry and sent pointed glares at the Head Auror. "No doubt the Potions Master will be placed where he belongs."

"While the former will be released by the grease of gold," Mad-Eye Moody growled out, startling Harry. Behind him, the wizard was leaned against the wall, staff propped next to him. "Polyjuicing makes an effective alibi, and when one can afford it—"

"If there is no other evidence besides the conjectures of an old, paranoid wizard and an accusation by someone who may well be addle-brained, then it is right that Mr. Malfoy should be released," the lanky, scar-faced Auror retorted acidly. "Is it Ministry protocol now to lock up those who have not been proven to be a danger to magical society?"

"Rightly so, Auror Proudfoot! Malfoy was acquitted thirteen years ago of being a Death Eater. I will have no innocents in Azkaban under guard by those mad-inducing Dementors!" Minister Fudge announced, unable to smother a shudder at the thought of the Dark creatures. "That business with Sirius Black has given me nightmares to last a lifetime."

Harry was so choked with dismay that he could no more than stare at the unwitting minister. Moody snorted loudly, but said nothing else as he reached for his canteen.

"While Malfoy is certain to be cleared again, Potions Master Snape is no such innocent," the minister continued. "He knowingly and repeatedly cast the Unforgivables on You-Know-Who's enemies, but escaped rightful punishment because that Dumbledore vouched for his rehabilitation. If the eminent Headmaster of Hogwarts, who is also the Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of Wizengamot, was suppressing important information about the Boy-Who-Lived, then to what purpose has he protected a known supporter of You-Know-Who? What I mean to say is whether we should expect a hostile takeover from the Grand Sorcerer by the deliberate sowing of terror into the British magical populace?"

Stunned silence met his question. Madam Pomfrey had a hand over her mouth, frozen by the crazed assertion. Harry didn't miss how the Aurors had placed their hands by their wand holsters. Minister Fudge was too busy sweeping his arm across as he pronounced that You-Know-Who hadn't come back from the dead at all and that it was Dumbledore's fault that things had gotten along as far as they had.

"You must be mad to suggest that Dumbledore manufactured the whole enterprise. As if he would scheme to have Harry Potter whisked away and tortured only to incite panic in the public," Auror Savage said finally as soon as the minister's anti-Dumbledore rant had finished.

"He intends to drag my incumbency as Minister of Magic through the dirt by playing his power games! And look where it has brought us!" Minister Fudge roared. "The Boy-Who-Lived traumatized beyond belief and my competence besmirched and laughed at by my international peers."

"So you would stoop this low to throw blame at the feet of one of the greatest wizards of the century when he is not here to defend himself?" The deep baritone of the Head Auror countered. "If you make these declarations public, you know you'll be made a laughingstock."

The Minister's face reddened with anger. "Dumbledore hires werewolves and half-giants as teachers and wants to send friendly envoys to the Giants and remove Dementors from Azkaban! We only feel safe as we do knowing those wretched creatures are standing guard!" He jabbed a finger towards the ceiling. "I've held a lot of respect for Dumbledore and have not always agreed with him, but now I see that he uses the Boy-Who-Lived to his own end gains. The boy lies at the center of Dumbledore's web of deceit, beginning with the horrible placement with his mental, anti-magic Muggle kin. It's clear the boy is soft in the head due to his traumatic—"

"I am  _not_  insane or daft, Minister Fudge," Harry said coldly as the soul-shard constricted tightly inside of him.  _Damn that Rita Skeeter. Damn Fudge for believing her lies_. "I'm the victim of misfortune, not some twisted conspiracy. The excruciating head pains revealed in Skeeter's gossip column are due to surviving the Killing Curse. I don't appreciate her telling everyone about them, since it's nobody's business but my own. Despite these recurrent pains, my head is clear and I don't suffer from phantasms or the like." Harry fisted his hands into the covers on either side of him. "I know what I saw and am prepared to swear it in front of the entire Wizengamot if need be."

"What you saw was You-Know-Who's rebirth?" came the quivery question.

Harry fixed his eyes on the minister's. "Yes."

The eye contact was quickly broken. "Perhaps you were mistaken. Perhaps you were meant to see these illusions, drugged to the gills with potions… It is not so difficult if one has a master of the craft do it. That Snape could have easily led you into a trap since you held him in such regard. He had plenty of access to the Quadwizard Chalice." Minister Fudge eagerly stepped closer when he saw Harry hesitate. "It's a possibility, isn't it?"

Harry's head lowered slightly and then raised again, eyes glinting coldly. The soul-shard spoke quietly, "You remember three years ago when I was recuperating from an attack at the end of my first school term?"

"Y-yes. How could I forget that? Dumbledore roused terror in everyone by saying You-Know-Who's spirit attacked you, when it was really Quirinus Quirrell."

Harry shook his head. "You only heard part of the story. Voldemort was possessing Quirrell at the time. Quirrel attacked me by his master's command."

"You can't seriously think anyone will believe that nonsense." The minister waved his hands to the other adults standing near. "Auror Proudfoot, what do you say?"

Arms already crossed, she glared at Harry. "If that's true, how did Quirrell sneak through the wards? Evil spirits cannot enter any more easily than the occupants of the Forbidden Forest."

"The turban." Harry locked eyes with her.

"What about it?"

"Quirinus had gone on sabbatical the summer before Harry's year and mysteriously acquired it," Madam Pomfrey said, "Ever since I had heard reports from students that he would hold entire conversations with himself when no one else was around. At the time, I believed the term would be his last because he had become deranged. However, I recall seeing strange runes woven into the turban once, when Quirrell was adjusting it. It was of the like you see for the truly dangerous contraband that the wards set into Hogwarts' very stones repel. I hadn't thought anything of it until later." She looked very grim.

The lanky witch looked taken aback, but Minister Fudge laughed. "A flimsy piece of fabric? That's mad!"

"No, it's not," the Head Auror countered. "Quirrell was keyed to the old wards as a professor of Hogwarts. Not only that but as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he was permitted to allow certain Dark creatures inside for teaching purposes. Hogwarts' warding spells could not keep him out. It was very unfortunate that Quirrel's body and clothes had disintegrated before the Unspeakables could study the phenomena."

The minister looked scandalized. "Doesn't it make much more sense that Dumbledore had destroyed every scrap of evidence?"

The Hogwarts Healer cleared her throat. "No living vessel could withstand harboring such an evil spirit for long. Furthermore, did you not know unicorns were being murdered in the forest that year? At each death site, there were ghastly bite marks in their hides and bloody footprints beside the carcass."

Minister Fudge's eyes had grown wide, the whites of his eyes very noticeable. "Unicorns were killed then?" His head swiveled to Auror Shacklebolt. "Why wasn't I notified?"

"I sent you the report, but you blamed poachers at the time, sir," the tall wizard answered. "You could ask the two Gryffindors who witnessed the black-robed figure lapping up the silver blood under the light of the full moon."

A violent shudder went through the adults.

"Their parents had sent official complaints to the Ministry about their concerns regarding the safety of Hogwarts then, which also landed on your desk."

Minister Fudge looked very peaky. "I had thought Dumbledore had it well in hand. He never requested Auror assistance. I would have taken it much more seriously then."

The soul-shard decided that this was the most prime opportunity he would get. "The point you should be getting, sir, is that Voldemort's soul had been clinging to the here and now. He only needed to build a container to house himself. One that wouldn't fall apart like Quirrell's body.." Harry's fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into the palms of his hands as memories flashed through his head. "I'm sorry, sir. He took my blood to refashion a body for himself. I couldn't stop him. It's my fault."

"Surely… surely, that cannot be true?" The minister whispered.

"Believe what you want, Minister Fudge," Auror Tonks said sharply. "What is true will become clear in a matter of years. If Voldemort has arisen, then he will not stay to the shadows for long. At the same time, if it's a stunt pulled off by desperate Death Eaters, then surely we will see no mysterious disappearances of numerous people like at the start of the first war. Right?"

"Exactly!" The wizard boomed. "I will have no more of this manufactured bedlam! The culprits will be jailed indefinitely and we will all be safe once more." Minister Fudge took in a deep shaky breath and then gave Madam Pomfrey a firm look. "Have you called a Psych Healer here to have the boy checked for Mind Twist curses?"

The healer thought for a moment and then shook her head. "I would not allow it yet, but we could arrange for someone to confirm if a block exists. I remember old Anise, my mentor, saying that the Endless-Knot Blocks from the war with You-Know-Who were the worst she'd seen. Any attempt to unravel them caused madness or catatonia."

"I don't want either. Thank you," Harry said, suddenly retaking charge of his body. He loosened his cold fingers from the blankets they had been latched on and slowly rubbed warmth into them. "Were there any other questions? I'm rather exhausted by the topic."

"You gave me everything I needed, Harry." The minister flipped out what looked to be a business card from his pocket and flicked it to Harry. The Slytherin quickly raised his hands to catch it as it fluttered unerringly towards him. On it was a moving picture of Minister Fudge, smiling and bobbing his head congenially. The other side was blank save for a pair of solid black runes. One was an Ansuz and the other was a Wunjo. "Send me an owl, would you? I want to be better prepared to answer reporters when they ask about your health other than 'I don't bloody know'."

"Certainly, sir."

Minister Fudge tipped his hat and left, Aurors Proudfoot and Savage tagging along after him.  _Do Aurors get assigned guard duty?_  Dismissing the thought, Harry tilted his head towards the Head Auror. "How long has he been paranoid like that?"

"It's grown worse over the years. Nobody likes the thought of You-Know-Who coming back, least of all Minister Fudge," he answered. "Well, we appreciate your time, Mr. Potter. You may be called to testify in the future if either Malfoy or Snape get a full trial before the Wizengamot." Auror Shacklebolt snatched the quill from the air and it went limp in his meaty hands. Harry caught a snatch of the writing on the scroll and it looked very neat and absolutely tiny before it too was put away. "Healer Pomfrey, would you mind if Auror Tonks remained to ensure his safety?"

"So long as she doesn't interfere with my work, then she's most welcome." Madam Pomfrey smiled at the recent Hogwarts alum.

The Head Auror dipped his head in farewell and turned to leave, a clumping and thunking silent Mad-Eye Moody with him. Harry wondered why Tonks couldn't just stay outside the doors as the Aurors had likely been doing. Maybe the other two had to discuss something. Even so, Harry had a feeling he was being watched by that ever-questing magical eye.

The young Auror's hair turned into a shocking yellow and black mass of quills. The healer chortled at the sight. "Miss Metamorphogus, do stop showing off." She waved a wand and a used washcloth and water basin Vanished as if it never was. She may have conjured it after he had gotten so dizzy that he passed out.

Auror Tonks winked at Harry and her hair reverted to a familiar platinum blond though short and spiky instead of the hot pink. She glanced towards the double doors that had closed behind Shacklebolt and Moody and towards the open door to the healer's office. She grinned broadly, leaning to look at Harry eye-level. "Excellent work escaping You-Know-Who and  _stealing_  his wand."

Harry grew flustered at her attention. "Where did you hear that?"

"Oh, that's from a source of intel that you evidently despise," she said cheekily.

"I'll have no more talk of that business," Madam Pomfrey's voice boomed from her office. "Even if his MVS has matured, he's still Underage."

Auror Tonks clucked her tongue like she wished to say more on the subject, but respected the healer too much. "At any rate, even if that yew wand obeys you now, do me a favor and don't ever forget where its true loyalties lay."

"You must think I'm an idiot."

She laughed. "No, just inexperienced. If you ever want to be an Auror, look me up, okay? You seem to have a good head on your shoulders and a daring inclination towards survival." Her bared grin was wild and excited. "By the time I graduate, I should have put enough Death Eaters away for the higher-ups to let me get a rookie."

"I don't think I want to spend the rest of my life hunting those who use the Dark Arts, but thanks."

"Yeah, I won't lie. This profession takes a certain kind of person."

Harry offered, "Brash thrillseekers?"

Auror Tonks held a hand over her heart as if she were about to swear on her life. "I am but a simple justice-seeker."

The Slytherin straightened as a grin split his face when he remembered his father's occupation. "Was my dad good at it?"

There was a pronounced nod from Tonks. "One of the best for only being officially on the force for three years. There was an accelerated training program back then when the war was in full swing." Her face fell and her hair lost its shine, "Aurors were in high demand but few were willing to join. Not many lived to tell war tales. It was brutal."

A silence hung over them as if the mention of the war had summoned a privacy spell. Harry hesitated to break it, but burrowed through. "Do they mind House affiliation?"

"They'd be out of their bloody minds not to let you in. Are you interested?" She leaned closer, and Harry fought the urge to lean back as his face heated.

"Maybe?"

"You'll need to get an Exceeds Expectations or Outstanding on five N.E.W.T.s, including Transfigurations." The Auror gave him a pointed look, which caused the heat to creep down his neck. "Potters in general are good at the Terra Arts. S'why so many ended up in Hufflepuff." She pulled back suddenly when Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat from across the room. "Oh, alright. So  _most_  of them were Gryffindor, but that doesn't mean I can't claim commonality is all I'm saying."

The healer cleared her throat again suggesting that she hadn't interrupted because she disagreed. "You have another visitor, Harry."

The Slytherin turned away from the energetic Auror. He saw Draco standing quietly beside Madam Pomfrey. Being tense, Harry's roommate looked somewhere between nervous and agitated.

"I'll leave you to it," Madam Pomfrey said, sending a warning look towards the Auror, who smiled confidently.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked after waiting a long time for the smug, chatty prat to say something.

"You're joking. Am  _I_ alright?  _Me_?" Draco scoffed, "Honestly, you act like you didn't get whisked off and used in a Dark blood ritual." Harry could see the false bravado for what it was. Draco's right hand kept opening and closing compulsively. Grey eyes flicked over him. "How are  _you_ holding up? Have any new battle scars to show off?" The greedy, admiring tone wasn't unexpected, but the coldness in his eyes belied anger.

Auror Tonks cleared her throat, but Draco ignored her as if she was of little consequence.  _Weren't they cousins?_

Knowing that snitching on Draco's father about his loyal Death Eater habits was the most obvious cause for the anger, Harry raised an eyebrow. "Actually, no. I don't have any."

The Malfoy heir fidgeted, crossing his arms tightly against himself. "No?"

"The foulest wizard of the century healed the cut on my arm," Harry said. "I don't have any scars from my encounter, besides the after-effects of a Torture Curse. The damage that required medical intervention was my doing. I was reckless."

Draco spluttered, staring at Harry as if he'd grown a parasitic Skrewt on his shoulder. His eyes kept flickering towards the Auror. Harry knew he had to be brimming with questions.

"It was strange," Harry agreed. "Thought  _he_  was going to kill me when I was cheeky with him. He did break my wand, though."

"…I heard about your wand," Draco said smoothly grasping hold of that to steer the conversation away from talk of the Dark Lord. "You have my condolences. Do you plan to get a replacement from Ollivanders?"

"Might. Can't get a decent education without a proper wand, can I?" Harry chuckled, reaching up to clutch the pouch that was hanging from the leather cord around his neck.

His roommate shifted uncomfortably. "Are its remains in that?"

"Yeah…" Harry wasn't sure what to call the substance. "Dumbledore said it wanted to serve me in a different way, but I don't know what that means. Do I sprinkle it into special kinds of potions?"

Draco was barely able to stop rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. "No… Not potions. You can use powdered wand to key Magical Objects to you, so only you or your descendants can use it."

"That's it?"

" _That's it?_ Of course not! I was just giving you the simplest example. You know I don't like being used as a Reference to All That Is Magical."

Harry's hand tightened on the pouch as he watched Draco move to rest a palm on the windowsill and look out the window. For a long moment, the other teen said nothing. Auror Tonks had leaned quietly against the wall on the opposite side of Harry.

The sound of birds flitted by, possibly Post Owls by the sound of the wings. Then his friend murmured, "When Diggory appeared holding the Quadwizard Chalice… At first, no one knew there was anything wrong. He had to use an Amplifying Charm to tell everyone that the cup had taken the both of you to a graveyard far from Hogwarts and that you had been left behind." He took a deep breath and turned to look at Harry with a sour look. "Professor Dumbledore calmly ordered us to Hogwarts Castle, though many fled to its doors in panic. The Aurors enforced a headcount and asked if anybody was missing. The Salem Institute principal and the Durmstrang high master were gone without a trace. It wasn't long before the Aurors caught Karkaroff, and he confessed that he was fleeing the Dark Lord's summoning. That principal is officially a fugitive on the run."

"I heard about the last bit." Harry dropped his hand from the pouch. "I'm thinking of joining the Aurors when I graduate."

Draco snorted very loudly. "You're too smart for the work. I'd say you'd be bored to tears within a month of employ."

"Oh?" Auror Tonks intruded into the conversation without even a by your leave.

With a sneer, Draco gave her a dismissive look. "If he really wanted a challenge  _and_  decent pay, he ought to be a bounty hunter."

"If Aurors and bounty hunters catch Dark witches and wizards, who catches the evil, but otherwise normal wizards and witches?"

The two gave Harry a blank look. "Not following," the Auror said.

Harry grinned when he saw the dawning recognition in Draco's eyes. "You want an analogue of a practitioner of Dark Arts, who aren't law-abiding?"

"Yes," Harry said.

Auror Tonks frowned down at him. " _Illume_  wizards and witches who go evil are corrupted the moment they fall from grace. They've turned Dark," the Auror said.

"I just mean to say that it seems prejudiced to call yourself a  _Dark_  Wizard Catcher," Harry continued, "Couldn't the description just say  _Evil_?"

The young Auror snorted and then smothered a laugh. She shook her head as if slightly confused by the reasoning. "Dark  _is_  evil."

"He always worries about the most peculiar things," the prat explained dryly to the puzzled Tonks. Then he directed at Harry, "You do realize that  _most_ ," and here Draco glanced towards the Auror, "magical folk wouldn't see the distinction."

"But it's  _there_ , and if there's a way to widen that distinction then maybe the balance will eventually get restored…"

"Balance?" Draco now was looking at him most peculiarly.

"The world's magic is unbalanced, especially between the Dark and the Light. That's a problem because magic brings forth life. To maintain that life a balance has to be maintained between the two. Too much of either result in death."

Draco's eyes had taken on a calculated gleam as his lips curled in abject pleasure. It was perhaps a good thing that the Auror couldn't see it.

"There's no conclusive evidence to substantiate that," Auror Tonks said, sending a pointed look at Draco. "Whoever you heard that from was spouting antiquated mumbo-jumbo.  _Unbalanced magic_  is the reasoning used to justify the use of the full spectrum of the Dark Arts."

" _Oh_. Yes, that sounds like that'd be a serious problem…" Draco twisted his body to face her. He asked sarcastically, "I don't suppose you have any solutions to prevent the end of all magic?"

She snorted. "Magic isn't fading, you lout. That's propaganda spread by pureblood supremacists because they keep churning out Squibs. Muggles  _can't_  steal magic from the magical to create Muggleborns. It's incongruous with the many laws of magic, not to mention patently absurd."

"Obviously if you don't think there's a problem then no solution is needed," Draco said with a pompous air. "I wouldn't expect a Halfblood to do anything more than to keep their head under the sand."

"I can be no more blind than the person who declares that Crumple-Horned Snorkack don't exist!"

"I see only that you've completely closed your mind to the possibility." The prat smugly turned to Harry. "What do you propose we do to stop the end of life as we know it, Harry?

If Harry hadn't spent so much time around the bloody prat, he might have thought he was being mocked. But there was a fine line between Draco's brand of derisive ridicule and his suppressed disbelief. "Legalize the ethical forms of the Dark Arts? Give proper pay to those people hailing from traditionally Dark families and allow them to take prominent positions in the Ministry," Harry answered semi-seriously.

"You want to start a revolution you do," the witch said with a flat smile.

"Oh, I don't think a shakeup within the Ministry is that bad of an idea." There was a wolfish grin on Draco's face, apparently finding the proposal to his taste.

"I ought to report you for insurrection." Auror Tonks appeared to be suppressing her glee at the idea.

"He leads no army and has no post at the Ministry of Magic. The charge would never stick."

"I could make a case that his barmy fans are his sworn subjects," she mused.

"Hmph. Well, speaking of subjects, your exam scores came in, Harry." Draco pulled the rolled parchment from his jacket and unfurled it. "I've never seen such  _terrible_  marks."

"Give it here, you prat." Harry leaned forward and snatched it from his hands. He stared at it in amazement. "This isn't possible. I made an E in Transfiguration."

Draco laughed.

"Stop that."

"Your Grace is simply  _that_  amazing."

"Transfiguration is my worst class! And the rest of these, I made Outstandings!"

"Well, the teachers  _might_  have made an error in scoring you, since you were  _supposed_  to be exempt."

"I guess that makes it alright." Harry set the parchment on the table next to him. "Who's next in line?"

"Sally-Anne."

Not moments later, Poppy exited her office and bustled towards them. As she checked on Harry, Madam Pomfrey said to Draco that he only had a few minutes more.

Draco exhaled lightly, meeting Harry's curious expression. Draco opened his mouth and then closed it. When Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat impatiently, the prat lightly touched Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad you made it relatively unscathed. I just wish you had the good sense to shut up so you don't keep inconveniencing yourself and others."

While Harry blinked up at his fellow Slytherin, the hand on his shoulder squeezed gently and pulled away. Draco exited the infirmary without a look back.

Under the watchful eye of Auror Tonks, Harry had received the rest of his year-mates who all brought him little bits of news and congratulated him on unofficially co-winning the Quadwizard Tournament. Sally-Anne had hugged him tightly complimenting him on his safe return. She passed Lord Slytherin's message about the wounded Lionsnakes recovering and then spent the remaining time practicing the heavily accented phrases of Parseltongue the dead Founder had apparently taught a few interested Slytherins. Theodore hadn't yet arrived back due to the recent full moon; otherwise he would have visited.

Hermione had told Harry that she'd been shocked to find out the impostor had been Professor Moody at first because the adult had asked her, Neville, and Ron to keep an eye on Harry in case anyone tried anything. When the Slytherin had relayed to her about how Ms. Oke had been instrumental to completing Voldemort's resurrection, Hermione admitted to being in shock to hear that the principal was a wanted fugitive. They'd had no reason to suspect her before that. Hermione admitted that she would have bet on Mr. Crouch, not his son… that is,  _before_  the Ministry Official had been hauled away and left to rot in Azkaban. She was exceptionally glad that everything had turned out alright. "It's too bad that Crouch Jr. got away. He could have provided testimonials for everyone he killed. You know, clear up what You-Know-Who's been attempting to accomplish besides the obvious plot to resurrect himself and do you in."

Harry didn't enlighten her about Voldemort's new plans for him. In fact, he hadn't enlightened anyone that Voldemort wanted him Marked. He had to wonder if Dumbledore knew because of Snape or if that bloody Death Eater had done the right thing and kept it to himself.

When time with Hermione was up, Harry thanked her and said goodbye. She smiled, hugged him, and left.

Then it was Neville's turn. He was heartbroken, as expected, to learn that Harry would be living with his godfather that summer. "But you'll come visit me right?" Hope was positively brimming in Neville's voice.

"Of course, as long as you come and visit me." For the remainder of the time, Neville rambled about many things, though they centered around one Ravenclaw by the name of Luna Lovegood. He seemed absolutely smitten with her. Harry thought they made a sweet couple… as long as Neville didn't give him any details of the  _kissing_.

And then his blood-brother was shooed out, and Harry was told to eat dinner. The only visitors remaining were all Slytherins and they had been turned away for the day so he could rest up.

Once they had gone, the adult remaining said, "I'll keep watch, so rest easy."

Harry grimaced as he swallowed the run-of-the-mill sleeping potion that the Hogwarts Healer had left for him. He lay back, waiting for it to take effect. Suffice it to say, he was a bit disappointed that Ginny hadn't come to see him, but thought that she probably hadn't wanted to wait among mean-spirited Slytherins for a chance to talk to him.

As for Mervyn, Harry knew he'd see the seventh-year around. A blood fealty wasn't something that simply disappeared after a year.

* * *

Harry was released into the care of his housemates by evening of the next day with a stern warning from Madam Pomfrey. Daphne and Tracey were on either side of him as Sally-Anne led their entourage to the Great Hall. Goyle and Bulstrode walked behind Harry and the others, speaking in hushed tones. Harry was a little numbed when the wash of noise from the Gryffindor table came over him after entering the Great Hall. The SI students were completely spread out among the Lions, only noticeable by their pin-striped uniforms and hats. Harry hated how their eyes itched on his skin.

Most of the other students avoided his gaze even while they attempted a smile; the Beauxbatons students furtively whispered to one another, glancing at him when they thought he wasn't looking. Victor Krum had given him a hearty pat on the back. A few had hugged him, but only Dennis Creevey had needed to be pried off him by a flick of Prefect Sykes' wand. From the ones who hadn't been able to come to personally greet him in the infirmary, Harry was constantly being bombarded with questions of his general well-being.

Beside Sally-Anne, Harry took a seat on the far end of the bench, closest to the double doors, in case he needed to leave in a hurry. The Durmstrang students were quietly respectful towards Harry.

A hush fell over the Great Hall when the headmaster stood up.

"The end," Professor Dumbledore said solemnly, in dazzling robes of periwinkle blue, "of the term is mere days away. And what a year we've had with international guests and the revival of a tournament meant to forge strong bonds between our schools."

A series of images swam up in Harry's mind unbidden; a simmering cauldron, a helpless witch, a stone angel's cold embrace, the sound of his heart beating hard, the raspy entrance of seven Death Eaters…

An elbow nudged him in the side, breaking his stare with Professor Dumbledore. "Harry? You alright?" It was Sally-Anne.

When he came back to himself, he was staring at the empty golden plate in front of him and finally noticed that the Great Hall was swathed in blue and bronze. The Ravenclaw House must have won the House Cup.

"There is much that I would like to say to you all this evening," Dumbledore was saying, "but I must first acknowledge that we are facing dark and difficult times."

That got a sudden influx of murmuring from the students from the other tables. The Slytherins and Durmstrang students sat motionless waiting on bated breath to hear what the headmaster would say.

"Many of you have noticed that Harry Potter's health has returned after a harrowing experience. You have heard the British Ministry of Magic's official statement about the matter. However, Harry Potter was not spirited away for a Death Eater reunion. No, it was on Lord Voldemort's direct orders that he was taken hostage at a place of his choosing in order to resurrect himself with ancient Egyptian magic."

A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall. People were staring at Dumbledore in disbelief and horror. The headmaster looked perfectly calm, reminding Harry of Slytherin's words on maintaining composure as a leader. Eventually, the frightened students muttered themselves into silence.

"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore continued, "does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so—either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are."

Some of the horror was trickling out of their faces as understanding began to blossom; Harry saw it all.

"It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Harry did not suffer a traumatic event at Lord Voldemort's hands is an insult to the soundness of Harry's mind. It was not a mirage or a delusion brought on by an old injury of magic most dark. Lord Voldemort is back, and with him the rekindling of violence that marked his era of power."

"Wish he'd stop saying the Dark Lord's name," Draco muttered to Harry. He blinked at the blond. Normally he would have noticed Draco's seating arrangement by his boisterous bragging and condescension, but lately he had been abnormally silent.

A sick swoop of chilling anger had settled to the bottom of his stomach. He forced himself to look back at the headmaster, though a strange anger rose at the sight of him.

"With cunning and determination, Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort and his supporters. He unwaveringly  _refused_  Lord Voldemort's plans for him. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards or witches have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him."

Professor Dumbledore turned towards Harry and bowed. The rest of the Great Hall—including the staff, nearly all of the visiting Aurors, and even Mad-Eye Moody!—somberly followed suit, standing and bowing, murmuring Harry's name.

Mortified, Harry felt a flush burn right up the back of his neck, reddening his face and ears. The cold presence retreated.

When everyone had returned to their seats, the headmaster continued, "The Quadwizard Tournament's aim was to further and promote magical understanding despite our cultural differences. In light of what has happened—of Lord Voldemort's return—The bonds of friendship we've made this year will be more important than ever. For Lord Voldemort has the great ambition to succeed where Grindelwald failed, and we must not allow that to happen."

While Professor Dumbledore met the gaze of Madam Maxime and Hagrid, the Beauxbatons' students quietly and nervously chattered to one another in French. The Durmstrang students along the Slytherin table were scowling and shifting uncomfortably. Viktor Krum in particular was looking very nervous; he looked even surlier than he had at the thought of asking Hermione to visit him over the summer. Then the headmaster looked kindly at the Durmstrang students at the Slytherin table. High Master Igor Karkaroff's absence had caused the tension in the Durmstrang students.

"Every guest in this Hall will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all—we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided."

"This man's a bloody genius," Draco murmured. "Rousing up an army of magical children… Only the childless and the vulgar would knowingly destroy their future over an ideal."

"Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight him only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts beat as one."

Each and every Slytherin was listening to the headmaster with rapt attention. The Gryffindors and their guests were also captivated by the old wizard's powerful message.

"Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. It was his hand that opened the Chamber of Secrets and its purpose was to provoke anger and distrust amongst you, conquering you with your own fear before he had even fully regained his powers. Additionally, many of your families were torn asunder during Voldemort's war; old rifts formed thirteen years ago still have yet to mend." Here the headmaster paused deliberately as the murmuring of Hogwarts students began again. Once it had faded, he continued, "If the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to the boy who is good and kind, who is brave and cunning. I ask you now to put aside your differences and realize the truth of my words."

Barely hearing a word, Harry shrunk down on the bench and slipped under the Slytherin table so people would  _stop looking at him_. Sally-Anne and Draco shifted closer to Harry sandwiching him between their outer thighs. He pulled his knees up and rested his forehead on them.  ** _Are you so afraid of attention that you cower in the light?_**

 _I never asked for any of this_. The soul-shard didn't respond. Harry could smell the smoke of the magical fire and the fumes from the potion. He locked his arms around his knees, forcing himself to focus on the present.

"It may have been a quirk of Fate that Harry Potter survived Lord Voldemort's attack when he was an infant barely a year old, but upon their most recent meeting he  _chose_  to defy Lord Voldemort. Harry Potter  _chose_  to do this greatly outnumbered by Lord Voldemort's supporters twice his age and many times more experienced. This was his choice even knowing that the consequence would likely be the end of his noble bloodline."

"Harry?" Sally-Anne whispered from above. Harry didn't answer her as terrible memories seared across his mind, leaving flashes of images in his eyes: the Blessing desperately trying to stay in his skin, his blood on a dully glinting knife, painful light and agony, a pale foot sinking into his cheek. The thigh shifted and a body sat beside him on the cold, stone floor. Arms wrapped about him and a soft chest was pressed against his head. "Shh… it's alright," she soothed as she carded a hand through his hair.

"For Harry Potter's noncooperation, the wounds he sustained from his encounter are deep and have not fully healed. In respect of his sacrifice, none of you will ask what transgressed that night. When he is ready, he will tell us his story, and we will listen in silence without judgment."

Is that why he couldn't stop obsessing about what happened in the graveyard? The shivering began to subside. The warmth from Sally-Anne was seeping into his skin, and he relaxed.

"Do not expect to hear his story next year. It has been over a decade that Lord Voldemort was last seen and many of your war-scarred parents cannot utter the horrors that they themselves witnessed." There was quiet and then the headmaster said, "A toast to Harry Potter's daring escape and our righteous efforts against those who would harm others in the name of power. Cheers!"

The answering toast was so loud Harry felt it reverberate through the chilly stone under him. The cloying memories were retreating now and he sighed in relief.

"You alright?" Sally-Anne pulled away still crouched next to him.

"I think so," Harry said.

"Excellent. I'm hungry and it's stuffy down here." She crawled back onto the bench and offered a hand to help him up as well. He settled in to a hearty meal, ignoring the stares as best he could. His ears heated in shame for huddling under the table like a small child.

"I don't think this outpouring of solidarity will last," Draco muttered under his breath. "I think the headmaster has overestimated a child's propensity to defy their parents."

"But child I am not," Krum said to him. "If Dumbledore's vords are true, then those who fought the darkest Dark Lord in two centuries vill provide support. My comrades do not take kindly to tyrants."

"That's right! Ve did not bend our heads to Grindelwald, nor do ve to this Voldemort character," Poliakoff said with a cross look. Much of the remainder of the dinner had Durmstrang students speaking in this way.

By the end, Harry was not precisely hopeful that other magical governments would support theirs, but at least they had made some allies in the year.

* * *

The next day, Sirius surprised Harry with a letter delivered by Hedwig. Just as Harry opened it, his godfather's shadow overtook him. The Slytherin greeted his godfather with enthusiasm amid his friends who seemed relieved to see Harry with raised spirits.

Though the final exams were over, the students of Hogwarts had a remainder of a last week of classes. Harry had missed nearly all of them since he had been recovering. Regardless of his absence, Sirius had gotten Harry special permission to skip Wednesday classes so that he could get a new wand at Ollivanders.

This time, Harry spent hours trying nearly every wand in stock. Some wands Ollivander left on the shelves and Harry never questioned it. Sirius had gone out several times when he needed to pace. Night was falling when Ollivander declared, "A new wand may be in order."

Sirius' head swiveled so fast that he nearly hit the coat rack next to him. He dug into the front pockets of his trousers. "Let me give you a down payment for your troubles then."

The wand-maker held a shaky hand up to push the palm full of Galleons back. "It's not every day that I must carefully craft a wand for a customer. Let me enjoy myself, Mr. Black. It is really no trouble at all."

"Sir, would it help if I gave you this?" Harry took the pouch of powdered wand off his neck and opened it for Ollivander to inspect. When the wand-maker looked within, he made a soft sound.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Potter. I sense, however, that your old wand wants to serve a new purpose…" He peered at it closely, dipped a finger into the sand careful not to drop a single grain on the ground. "Ah, yes. A protective amulet or an emergency Portkey… Yes, she wants a  _special_  purpose…" He cleaned off his finger on the inside of the bag and pulled the purse-strings tight. "Don't disappoint her, or she might be temperamental in her new role."

"You-Know-Who called his wand and mine, wand-brothers," Harry said as he received the pouch in his palm.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not a Master of Wand-craft. They were wand-siblings." Then Ollivander began to measure Harry's wand-hand with that odd measuring tape. It kept track of many more dimensions than it had done when Harry had first walked in three years ago. The thickness of his knuckles, the distance between the tip of his thumb and the tip of his pinky when his hand was splayed, from the bottom of his palm to the inside of his elbow, and then measuring his right leg from where Harry's hand rested to the middle of his thigh… just all sorts of odd measurements that Harry didn't think were needed.

When a murmuring Ollivander shuffled off to the backroom of his store, Sirius had steered Harry out of the wand shop before Harry thought to seek advice about where he might get the sand re-purposed. They popped into the Leaky Cauldron for a quick meal. Dumbledore was there carrying a cheerful conversation with the bartender. Sirius took the stool next to the old wizard and ordered two Butterbeers.

"Haven't seen you in ages. Has life been well since your release?" The bartender asked Sirius politely as he polished a pint-glass.

"As well as it can be, Tom. It takes some adjustment after being in the dark for so long, but I manage." Sirius clasped Harry's shoulder. "Harry's been managing well, too."

"That is very good news. All this bad news brewing has kept people locked up in their own homes too afraid to get out." Tom the bartender nodded his head towards the empty tables. "Bad for business too."

Harry nodded and then turned to the quiet Professor Dumbledore nursing a small glass of fiery-red alcohol that slightly smoked. "Not to offend you, sir, but what are you doing here?"

"Ollivander wrote that you had not been matched with a wand. It's very rare that a person is incompatible to wield even one of the ten thousand he has in stock." The headmaster's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "I came to deliver a few trifles that should be in your possession." His thin hand dipped into his pocket and withdrew a key hanging from a knotted-silver keychain and a narrow, long box.

Harry gazed down curiously at the key and opened the box to check to see if his guess was spot-on. It was. Voldemort's wand lay within except the knucklebone handle had been replaced with one that was just like Harry's old one.

"The key to the Potter vault?" Sirius asked lowly, eyeing the key in Harry's palm.

"And a replacement wand," Harry said with devilish smile. He really liked the thought of using the weapon of someone so full of themselves.

"Take heed, Harry," Dumbledore warned. "That wand is not your ally."

Sirius frowned. "Not Harry's ally… But how can that be if he's compatible?"

"Wands are temperamental objects, but those of yew are particularly demanding."

"He can use a yew wand?" Sirius attempted to rein in the judgemental look, but didn't quite manage.

"All that says of your godson's character is that he is neither mediocre or timid," Dumbledore stated. "Harry knows the danger in using it."

"I do. I won't wave it around for fun." Harry solemnly pocketed the key and clutched the box to his side.

"Well, Tom, I must be going."

The bartender gave a jaunty wave. "Always a pleasure, Dumbledore."

With a smile, the headmaster gently set the empty shotglass upside-down and left several Galleons on the counter. "Take care, Sirius."

"And you," Sirius murmured.

Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when he said, "I sincerely hope Harry surprises us with his brand of mischief by the end of the year."

Harry lifted a shoulder carelessly, staring at his half-drunk pint of Butterbeer. The drink had relaxed him, but he didn't feel very cheerful. "I won't be."

With a sad, understanding smile, the headmaster nodded. He turned grabbed a handful of powder from the mantle and threw it into the fireplace, calling out the address to his office in Hogwarts. In a flash of green, the blue robes and frizzy white hair disappeared.

"I can't keep you too late. There's curfew to mind," Sirius stated gruffly. Setting his empty pint down, he shoved back from the counter, leaving several gold coins as well. "Thanks, Tom. Let's go, Harry."

"Are we going through the fireplace?"

Sirius chuckled. "No, not by Floo. We Apparate again." After they had gone out into the streets of Muggle London, they walked into an unoccupied alley. A firm hand fell on his shoulder, whisking them away to the outside perimeter of Hogwarts gates, where they had left earlier. They were met by Professor Flitwick. The adults chatted about Sirius' time at Hogwarts and the general mayhem he and Harry's father got up to two decades ago.

Harry listened to the details with amusement as they made their way over the grounds. Night had fallen and it was cloudy so the faint moonlight could not be seen. After a quick hug from Sirius, Harry was shooed inside. Professor Flitwick led Harry through the Entrance Hall to the dungeons where the painting to the Slytherin house was. "I will see you during Charms tomorrow morning."

Waving awkwardly, Harry bid the short professor a good night. The portrait swung open and at the top of the stairs his friends were eagerly waiting.

"Well?" Theodore asked. "What's it look like?"

"What?" At his friends' look, Harry grinned. "Just winding you up. Give me a moment." He carefully opened it. Lifting the yew wand from its container, Harry brandished it.

"Just looking at that gives me the creeps." Sally-Anne rubbed her arms as if she had gotten chills.

"What's the wand-wood? The core? It's a couple inches longer than your old one, looks like." Theodore leaned over it, moving back and forth to examine it at different angles curiously.

"Thirteen and a half inches, Yew with phoenix feather." Harry grinned, doubting anyone his age would recognize Voldemort's wand on sight.

"I'm knackered. See you two tomorrow."

"Ta," Theodore said after lightly kissing her cheek. As soon as Sally-Anne had gone up, he and Theo went upstairs to their dorm-room. On the way up, Harry put the wand back into its box, not fully trusting the wand in his pocket. It might full well burn a whole straight through.

When they entered the dormitory, the others were in various states of alertness. Draco looked completely insensate to the world. Deep, dark circles were painted beneath his eyes on a face that was entirely too cherubic for an absolute prat. Crabbe looked wide awake and in deep thought as his fingers deftly made knots from a many-stranded string, while Goyle had looked sleepily up from a glossy magazine that featured a glowing crystal ball on the cover with two hands lit from below.

After inspecting his old wand holster laying on the desk, Harry slipped off his shoes and cloak, turned up the covers of his bed, and slipped in. It seemed he closed his eyes only for a moment before he woke up with sunlight streaming into the room again. "Bother," he muttered under his breath, rubbing at his gritty eyes. He hadn't taken a sleeping draught from the drawer in his desk, yet he had had no dreams. It felt as if he had hardly slept at all. He went through the motions of getting ready for the day.

On their way to breakfast the next morning, Draco commented on how stylistically similar Harry's 'new' wand was to the old one.

"It's a bit longer, and it's made of yew, not holly. But the core's a phoenix tail feather like my old one."

"I'm glad Ollivander had it. How many wands did you have to go through?"

"Essentially all of them," Harry said with a trace of irony.

"No wonder it took all bloody day," Draco shook his head. "You would have thought he could match you with one better than that."

"I guess I was lucky the first time I went in."

"I suppose," he said with the air of someone who had lost interest in the topic.

As the last days passed like molasses, it was as though he had been through enough that it was hard to take anything more in, though there wasn't anything fancy or extreme about the lessons. It was supposed to be a fun pass, and yet Harry struggled to focus.

Every now and then he'd have painful recollections without meaning to. Seeing someone trip and land on their belly in the dirt when they ran out on the Hogwarts lawn during Double Herbology had reminded him of Draco's father begging for mercy. The statues situated around Hogwarts' courtyard where students hung around during lunch brought him back to the visceral pain echoing in his scar and the smell of burning.

And then there was the Death Eater. Because of the accusations leveled on him, the Potions Master had a two Auror escort at all times. Harry thought that it was unfortunate that he hadn't been dragged off to Azkaban straightaway because Potions was the last class of the term. Harry thought that Dumbledore must have interceded on Snape's behalf. Perhaps there were valuable Potions mid-brew that couldn't be left unattended for long periods of time? The Stasis Cupboard had its limits after all.

Aurors Proudfoot and Savage had taken up sentinel positions on either side of the door to keep an eye on the active Death Eater while he directed the class to prepare ingredients for summer brewing. Harry hadn't even managed to harvest a single bat spleen before he was shamefully dismissed from class for his wayward attention. Of all the adults Harry interacted with, only Snape was the one he loathed to be around for immersion into memories Harry would rather leave unsettled.

"Potter, why are you dawdling in the corridor?"

Harry blankly looked up at the greasy-haired Death Eater and then through him. He thought for sure he'd feel hate burn through him like a wildfire, but instead Harry saw him he'd remember the bastard twitching on the ground silently—

"Potter. Where are your  _friends_?" Black eyes looked down at him, a lip curling distastefully at him.

Harry blinked, realizing then that his eyelids hurt from drying out. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there staring past the wall of black with splotches of pale skin. The two Aurors hounding the Potions Master were looking at Harry with pity. "Sorry. I'll quit dawdling, sir." He turned slowly, eyes sluggish as they took in the brightly lit courtyard where his year-mates sat past the window. He didn't go to them because he had sensed the change in himself and was irrationally afraid it would pass to them. Besides, they had followed him around enough. Hadn't he relied on them too much?

There was an irritated noise followed by measured footsteps stalking away with two sets matching his speed with different rhythms.

Harry's eyelids fluttered when black robes billowed towards Theodore and Sally-Anne. A thin arm pointed in his direction, a pale hand gnarled and contorted like the other limbs in tortured repose by Voldemort. Ragged breathing filled the corridor, and the cool air and dim light thrust Harry back into the stone angel's cold, hard embrace.

_"This is my family," a raspy voice proclaimed, gesturing to the grim-eyed Death Eaters._

"Harry?"

He turned, not knowing how long he had zoned out. It was Sally-Anne.

"Where are you going?"

Harry came to himself, his hand trailing on the cold stone wall. "To the toilet…" He murmured. His voice was too loud, the corridor too cold. The beams of sunlight were too bright, like the cauldron exploding silver.

"I'll take you then." A warm hand slipped into his chilled one. Theodore's. "You're going the wrong way." When his hand was tugged, Harry followed along. If he had been more embarrassed, he might have pulled away, but he hardly felt anything.

Another tagged along next to him, speaking words that passed through Harry like a ghost. Ah, it was Sally-Anne. He tried to grasp the thread of conversation, but he hardly felt real at all. Then they stopped abruptly. He wavered in place as if the entire world shook.

"Should I go in with you?" Theodore gave him a concerned look.

Harry smiled falsely, his cheeks hurting. "I think I can manage to wipe my own arse, thanks."

As soon as he stepped past his Pursuivants, he slumped into the settee in the old-fashioned rest-room right after the door. He held his face in his hands and breathed deeply. He was so scattered, everywhere. He was afraid he was descending into a dark place where sanity barely lingered.

Someone touched his shoulder, and Harry ripped out his wand before he thought twice about it and stood at a crouch.

Diggory backed away with his hands up, showing that he meant no harm. "You weren't responding to me. You… You're not alright, are you? Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, re-holstering the over-eager wand that sang with violence.

"Ah, it's alright. Really. You missed the Champion's ceremony while you were stuck on bed rest and… well. Take it." Diggory thrust a lumpy sack at Harry. The Slytherin skittered back a few paces, his heart in his throat.

When Harry just stared in askance at it, the Hufflepuff continued with a worried smile, "It's not going to explode on you or anything. This is half of the winnings of the Quadwizard Tournament. Five hundred Galleons. I cast a Counting Charm on it five times just to be sure."

Carefully, Harry took the pouch that was much lighter than it appeared and stared at it. He'd forgotten there was a monetary reward for winning. He had a feeling that Diggory wouldn't want it back.

"And I wanted to thank you again. I can't thank you enough for your help in the tournament and the graveyard." Diggory fell silent. "I could have died then."

"But I—"

"You inadvertently saved me, and a save is a save in my book. My parents are proud of me and have asked me to do whatever I can to repay you. Life debts aren't cheap." His smile was broad, flashing white, straight teeth. It was little wonder why everyone fawned over him.

"I'm not interested," Harry said, and then at Diggory's confused look he continued, "It's not you. I don't want to date anybody since it would involve kissing. That doesn't look remotely like fun."

"Er…I'm involved with Cho Chang." Diggory stared at him and then hesitated. "…Potter… when I told you about taking a bath in the prefects' bathroom. Ehm. I wasn't suggesting anything…well,  _illicit_ then." At Harry's puzzled look, a bright grin grew on the Hufflepuff's face. "I was trying to give you a hint about the egg, but I suppose I shouldn't have worried since you had the Second Task well in hand. I would have never thought to seduce a mermaid myself." He tilted his head back with a light laugh.

" _Oh_ ," Harry said, a rush of hot embarrassment flooding his cheeks. The world came sharply back into focus.

Diggory aborted a gesture to pat Harry's shoulder. "I had wondered why my hint had garnered such a cold response from you. I thought I might have offended your intelligence. I shall remember next time that  _subtlety_  is lost on you."

"I was really hoping to avoid any participation with another International Doom Tournament," Harry muttered.

The sixth year laughed again. "Well, no, I meant that if you ever have need of anything, you can ask anything of us Hufflepuffs."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"I wouldn't have won the tournament if you hadn't helped me. I told everyone about it, and we all agree that this business with You-Know-Who… well, it's not any good and we want to help you." Diggory paused uncertainly, his smile faltering. "We've made you an Honorary Hufflepuff with Professor Sprout's blessings of course. You're invited to come to our common room any time you'd like. It's like a solarium, plants everywhere and plenty of open space and sunshine. You look a bit spread thin lately."

"Mm…" Harry's eyes slipped past him to look at the mirror image of the back Diggory's sandy brown hair. "That sounds nice."

"You know where the entrance to the kitchens are?" Harry watched himself nod. "The main entrance to the Hufflepuff common room is at the end of the hall where the stack of barrels are. You tap the barrel that's two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff', and the lid will swing open. But you have to be careful because if you do it wrong you'll be doused in vinegar."

"There's no portrait?"

"No, no portrait. They have a nasty habit of eating the food studies lining the hallway. We can't have that, can we?" Diggory chuckled at what must have been an inside joke.

"Erm. Thanks for the offer but I wouldn't be able to go alone. Ever since…" Harry's eyes slid from the mirror, trying to forget that night. "I've been very scatter-brained."

"That may be problematic. I'll have to talk it over with Professor Sprout."

Harry nodded.

"Harry?" Theodore poked his head in and saw the two of them. "Come on out. You're looking peaky. I've got some chocolate if you need it."

"See you next year," Diggory said, leaving the bathroom.

Harry gave the Hufflepuff an awkward wave, and the of-age teen left.

"Mate, you sure you don't want to go see Madam Pomfrey?"

"Positive," Harry answered his friend firmly ignoring the offered chocolate. No doubt his concerned friends thought he should see a Psych Healer. He didn't think he could open up to one at all. His Occlumency might as well get in the way of any mind healing that might take place.

After hardly sleeping any at all the following night, Harry had spent the time stretching out sore muscles and packing his trunk by hand. Hours after sunrise, the room was bustling while he calmly waited for the others to finish. Hedwig was in her cage.

Blinking into the silence, Harry looked around the empty room as if he had missed another chunk of time. He glanced at the slant of sunlight beaming beside his bed. He supposed it was time to go. Had someone told him to wait here? The Slytherin cocked his head and thought. Theodore said he'd be back to tell him what End-of-Term notices their Head of House announced and Harry hadn't really been there to respond. It was probably for the best. He hadn't wanted to stand in the crowded common room, when looking at the hook-nosed Head of House caused him to relive the night of Voldemort's resurrection.

"I never liked the bed curtains," Sirius' voice said from across the room. Harry's head jerked up as his godfather casually leaned against what was Goyle's bed. "James jinxed them to bound me up our first year." He chuckled. "It was the beginning of our pranking war."

Surprised that Sirius would be let into the Slytherin dormitory, Harry looked back down at the floor. He felt the bed sink in as Sirius sat down beside him.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you, Harry," his godfather said with a grim tone, broaching the subject that he had never raised on their outing together.

"You did your best. I heard you Apparated all the way to Albania…?" Harry glanced up at his godfather.

"Yes… Stupid of me, really. But my heart often doesn't listen to my head." Sirius scratched his chin. There was a thoughtful look on his face. "Harry, my behavior around your friends… Well, it wasn't right of me, but most of your year are the children of Death Eaters…"

"Doesn't mean they'll let themselves be Marked by  _him_ ," Harry bit out.  _'Surely there are other contenders more worthy of your Mark,'_ the memory whispered. "Unless their parents make them…"

"…You truly believe that they wouldn't want to join the likes of Voldemort?"

"Draco is dying to serve a Dark Lord."

There came a snort. "Well, that's a Malfoy for you."

"…but I think he'd sooner die than hurt me."

Sirius held Harry's gaze. "You believe that?"

"Yes… even though my friends are drawn to the Dark Arts that doesn't make them inherently  _evil_. Misunderstood and isolated, yes. And I know that most the Dark spells maim people, but I understand why people want to learn them. They think that to be able to perform nasty curses and hexes will protect them from others out to kill them."

A hand lightly placed itself onto Harry's shoulder and squeezed. "You know how I said that you remind me of my brother? I'd never met a decent Dark Wizard before him."

"Is he…?"

Sirius nodded, dropping his hand. "Dead? Yes. My brother, Regulus Black, was a curse-breaker for Gringotts. He always had an affinity for Dark curses, and not just for the defense of them. Not for creating new ones, mind you, but breaking ones that were centuries old. And, there's always a danger to that. A particularly nasty curse that no one had seen before killed him. Started on his chest and spread from there, rotting his magical core from the inside-out." Instead of looking distressed, Sirius' lips flattened as if he'd smelled something foul.

"And then…?"

"And then he was found out to be a Death Eater. He had  _his_ foul Mark on his arm." Sirius' face was stormy. "I was so furious then. I didn't understand how he of all people would submit like that. I blamed him for siding with the enemy, for not being strong enough to refuse Voldemort."

Reminded of Ron, Harry did not say why Regulus Black may have accepted the Mark afraid that it would come too close to what almost happened to him.

"Truth be told, Reggie likely didn't tell me because he was probably afraid of how I'd react. Back then… Death Eaters were all the same to me." Sirius looked down at his calloused hands. "And I've met a lot of them in Azkaban. There wasn't much you could do there but  _talk._ No other guards but the dementors, and they didn't care." Sirius paused. "After years of plotting of how I would find Wormtail among the millions of rats out there… One of the Death Eaters started a conversation with me. Thought I was innocent or else I would've gone crazy by then, since I'd been there for years."

Sirius stared into the distance as if he could see beyond the walls of Harry's dormitory. "I resisted at first, but after so long without human interaction I gave in. I learned  _why_  people chose to take his Mark. It's true that all of them beg to be Marked before it happens, but most of them aren't treacherous to begin with. Voldemort tricks, jinxes, and blackmails the nicer ones into recruitment. He twists them to his ends. That's what makes him terrifying, his ability to reshape a person into a tool to use at his disposal."

Harry smothered the fear that arose at his words. He was afraid of how his godfather would react if he learned what Voldemort intended for him.

"Harry, are you ready to go? We're to wait in the Entrance Hall with the other fourth years." It was Theodore, who walked up to his trunk and tapped it. Suddenly Harry's trunk sprouted tentacles. It looked rather unwieldy, so Harry was glad that his friend was holding Hedwig's cage.

Harry looked at his godfather. "Are you taking me straight to Grimmauld Place?"

Sirius shook his head with a nostalgic grin. "Have fun with your friends. I'll see you soon enough at King's Cross."

Harry hopped from the bed, taking hold of Hedwig's cage from Theodore. She flapped her wings when he jostled her and screeched lightly in complaint. "Sorry," he said to her. She snicked her beak at him. "See you, Sirius." Harry looked over his shoulder, and his godfather half-raised a hand to wave lightly. Harry then followed his weirdly crawling trunk down the stairs after Theodore.

In the Entrance Hall, Harry stood at the edge of the crowd of the fourth years nearest to the exit, waiting for the reptilian horse-drawn carriages to whisk them away to Hogsmeade station where Hogwarts Express would take them to King's Cross station in London. Mervyn had already come and gone, excited to have earned ten N.E.W.T.s. He made Harry promise to write him. When the Hogwarts graduate left with 'Manny' one of the SI graduating students in tow, a peculiar ache of loneliness formed in Harry's chest. He would have to read more into blood fealties so that he would no longer be taken by surprise. No doubt the texts would be difficult to come by.

Through Hogwarts' open front doors, Harry could see it was another beautiful summer's day. He could hear cicadas thrumming in the distance in the Forbidden Forest. Tension that had been coiled at the base of his neck released and a pleasant sensation traveled through him. The world seemed much clearer. It reminded him that he heard the insects after passing his First Task as well. Students of the four schools intermingled. Harry had already been given several hearty shakes of his hand by the US students. He had been told that they would be departing by aeroplane via Glasgow Airport and 'deplaning' at the JFK International Airport in New York City.

"We'll be taking those horseless carriages to Hogsmeade. Seems like fancy magical transportation we don't wanna miss," the SI witch said, as her classmates all nodded vigorously. "It's sad that they didn't consider the interference of Voldy-what's-his-face as foul play. Otherwise you would have taken first place with that Diggory guy."

With an uncomfortable smile, Harry felt a bit guilty that he didn't remember any of their names.

"I kinda wanted to knock the guy's block off," the SI wizard who liked whistling fizzy drinks said, smashing a hand on his palm. Harry had to take a step back as the wizard stepped forward with an aggressive intensity. "It's unfair, unjust! You were the winningest champion of them all!"

"Neil, you're scaring him," another witch from the States stated evenly.

"Oh, whoops. Heh, my bad." Neil ran a hand through his hair and awkwardly backed out of Harry's personal space. Theodore quickly stepped into the vacated space in case any of them decided to drop all sense of propriety and attempt to hug Harry at the drop of a hat.

"It is what it is," sighed another SI wizard. "Look, you've been such a good sport through all this. Don't hesitate to reach out to us if something crops up. Okay?"

"Alright, I'll send a post Owl if I need something."

Someone in the back of the group snickered. Harry frowned.

"Liz, don't be rude. Y'know they don't have email," the witch with the soft twang said sharply.

"I'm sorry, Agnes! I can't help it if it's the height of ridiculosity! How do these people survive without reception for their cell phones?"

"Owl post,  _obviously_ ," Neil batted back with an obnoxiously bad posh accent.

"Ridiculosity?" Daphne murmured to Tracey behind Harry. "Is that even a word?"

"They used winningest, Daphne," came the low reply. "I don't think they're meaning to mangle English. They can't help that they're yankees."

Overhearing them, Sally-Anne tried to cover her giggle politely as the SI students quickly grew distracted by their other acquaintances. They were wholeheartedly cheek-kissing one another with tearful goodbyes. Harry would not have called himself uptight, but even he was discomfited by the sight of the emotions splashing around so publicly.

"'Arry!"

Harry saw Delacour hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Beyond her, on the sloping lawns, Harry could see Hagrid helping Madam Maxime to back the last two of the giant winged horses into their harness. Evidently, the Beauxbatons' powder blue carriage was nearly prepared to take off.

When Delacour reached him, she held out her hand in a rather dainty manner. Harry grasped it and politely brushed his lips against her knuckles before letting it fall. "We will see each ozzer again. I am 'oping to get a job 'ere, to improve my Eenglish," she said. "I find Britain is much too interesting to leave forreverr." Her eyes seemed to hold a strange glimmer as she looked at Harry.

Theodore stepped forward, nudging a shoulder in front of Harry. "I think it's very good already," he said. "Don't you, Harry?"

"Not good enough!" She proclaimed with a finger. "I want to work az a diplomat to ze British Mineestry. Zis business with 'Oo-Know-'Hoo is bad for everyone. Professeur Dumbledorre is right. We must work together."

Harry smiled.

Pale cheeks coloring, Delacour looked over her shoulder quickly. Her silver-blond hair rippled, turning every boy's head towards her. "I must depart! Good-bye, 'Arry." She cupped his face and kissed one cheek and the other. "It 'az been a pleasure meeting 'oo!"

Harry's spirits couldn't help but lift slightly as he watched Delacour hurry back across the lawns to Madam Maxime. Then he remembered that Durmstrang had a ship and their high master was gone. He turned to the ever-quiet Draco, thinking he might know if he had visited the school before. "Can the Durmstrang students steer the ship without Karkaroff?"

"Karkaroff did not steer it," a gruff voice said behind him. "He stayed in his cabin und let  _us_  do all the vork."

"Oh," Harry said, watching the Beauxbatons' horses thunder down the lawn, wings spread. The powder blue carriage was in the air when it whizzed past Hogwarts' open doors. There came a loud roar of approval from the Hogwarts students standing outside the castle.

"I like you," Krum said abruptly to Harry. "Hyu hav alvays been polite. Even vhen hyu knew about Karkaroff." He scowled and then held out a hand to Harry. Harry took it and his hand was shook firmly once. When their hands parted, Krum clapped a hand on his shoulder and shook Harry a bit. "Hyu are now my comrade! Come visit if hyu are ever in the area."

"Er, okay."

Sally-Anne spoke up next, cheekily. "Krum, before you leave, might you give Harry your autograph? He's a huge fan."

Harry glared at her. "I don't need—"

"Vas vondering vhen you vould ask." Krum pulled out a small tube from a pocket in his robes and offered it to Harry. "It is very valuable. Small printing, highly collectible."

Harry accepted it graciously and cracked open the lid. The inside of the tube was lined with velvet and inside was a white, glossy rolled paper. He pulled it out, and it unfurled into a large poster of Viktor Krum in full Bulgarian robes, shifting on his inwardly-turned feet as he posed unblinkingly next to his broom.

_To Harry Potter, the crazy man who ran towards dragon-fire—I had heard you were reckless but I did not believe it until the First Task. I hope to see you fly one day; Malfoy has told us many tales of how you handle the broomstick before you victoriously seize the Snitch._

_Happy Seeking,  
Viktor Krum._

"Thanks," Harry croaked out.

"Do not mention it," the world-famous Bulgarian Seeker said appearing gratified. "I must go now. Do not be a stranger, Harry Potter." And then the slouch-shouldered student disappeared down the stone steps.

"Do you think we'll ever have a quiet year at Hogwarts?" Tracey asked Daphne. Before she could respond there came a simultaneous 'No' from Draco and Theodore, who exchanged a look and laughed.

"Augh," she muttered looking glum.

"You know, my mum's grandparents said they were in the same year as the Dark Lord," Sally-Anne said. "They said it wasn't nearly as chaotic. Well, besides the whole dreadful business with the basilisk." At Harry's surprised look, she smiled, "They were Ravenclaws, so they were rather surprised to hear that I was Sorted into Slytherin. My parents didn't care as long as I didn't incur the wrath of the Malfoy family by insulting their only heir. My mum had heard horror stories about Abraxas from her parents."

"How  _cold,"_  Draco said, flicking a hand with a disdainful swipe. "As if  _I'm_  anything like my grandfather."

Harry smiled, while the others laughed. He looked around. "Draco, what've you done to Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Oh, them? I gave them a well-deserved break. They're chatting with relatives," Draco nodded to where Harry could see them chatting with sixth-years Warrington and Cameron Boyle. "I have a feeling I've outgrown their protection anyway. Not that my father will allow it, I think."

There was the sound of a cannon firing off in the distance and another cheer of approval outside. The Durmstrang delegation must be departing...

And then the black carriages trundled to a stop in front of the stone steps, and the Hogwarts and Salem Institute students barreled forward to embark on their homeward journey.

The weather on the journey back to King's Cross could not have been more different than it had been on their way to Hogwarts the previous September. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Draco had remained unhitched from Crabbe and Goyle and sat in the train compartment with Harry, Theodore, Sally-Anne and Neville. Harry was a bit surprised that Daphne hadn't opted to call her favor in, since Dean Thomas had stopped by and cryptically said that Harry's mission had been a complete success. They had shared a private grin, and Harry had withstood some ribbing from his friends because he wouldn't explain the meaning behind it. Harry had taken Hedwig out of her cage; she dozed with her head under her wing next to him. Neville's toad, Trevor, would croak now and again, especially when it was thirsty.

Harry's friends talked more fully and freely than they had ever done around a Gryffindor who was not precisely known for keeping his lips buttoned. Watching the scenery fly past as the train sped southward, Harry felt as though whatever had come stuck inside of him was unraveling. Somehow, it was less painful to think of what had happened. Harry even talked a little about what would make him stare off into space, though only vague impressions. He never spoke about what had happened to him to his friends. His tongue would always act as if it'd been glued to the top of his mouth and his throat would constrict around his vocal cords. He hated that feeling as if he were not in control of himself.

When the lunch trolley arrived, the four broke off their conversation about what action Dumbledore might be taking, even now, to stop Voldemort. Draco added scathing remarks about why something wouldn't work. Otherwise, he calmly listened.

After they had ordered what they wanted, Harry asked for some cauldron cakes and pumpkin juice and nearly bumped into Ginny Weasley who appeared to have been waiting for the old witch to finish. "Hullo, Ginny."

The Gryffindor opened her mouth and then looked unsure about what she was going to say.

"Is something the matter?" Harry asked cradling the cakes and bottle from the witch, who pushed the trolley back to the engine-room. He passed the cauldron cakes into the compartment for the others to share and then shut the compartment door on their curious faces.

"Well," she said with a burst of air and then thrust a wrapped gift to him. "I made this for you." She pulled a strand of her red hair back and then looked at him expectantly.

Aware that he had an audience watching them, he unwrapped whatever-it-was. It was a crumpled piece of wire smaller than his palm. "Er, thanks…" He peered at it.

"It's an Emergency Portkey. Takes you directly to the Burrow. Dad gave one to each of us kids before we went to Hogwarts. As a precaution. When I got back, I'm going to tell them that I lost mine. The passphrase to activate it is 'lacy smock."

Warmth flowed through him, and he gave in to the urge to hug her. She stiffened in his grip. "Thank you, Ginny. It's perfect."

"Ginny?  _Harry_?" Ron's voice lashed out.

Ron's little sister backed away with a flushed face. "Have a good summer break, Harry," she whispered, her freckles hidden by the sheer redness of her blush.

"You…" Ron stammered at his sister, "With a  _Slytherin_."

"Oh, shut it, Ron! You're so annoying." Ginny continued down the tiny corridor her brother following with his tiresome tirades. They left a sour-looking Hermione Granger behind, who thrust a newspaper towards Harry. "I finished reading today's  _Daily Prophet_. No news about You-Know-Who at all, not even a byline."

Harry took it flipping it open. He opened the compartment door again, retaking his seat next to Neville. He ignored any questions about Ginny as his eyes scanned the headlines.

"If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet," Hermione said.

"Come in and have a seat," Sally-Anne said excitedly, pulling her in. She shut the compartment door as Hermione squeezed into the space between the door and Neville. "We were just discussing—"

"Granger, your deductive reasoning has led to the wrong conclusion. Fudge  _does_  want to keep it all hushed up, but he's not the one who owns the paper," Draco said with a snide tone and took the edition from Harry's lax fingers. The blond lifted the newspaper so Theodore could read it with him. "So, were there any  _riveting_  articles about a fickle-hearted Muggle-born today?"

"No, Rita hasn't written anything about me since the Third Task," Hermione said in an odd voice, slightly quivery. "As a matter of face, Rita Skeeter won't be writing anything at all for a while…"

Every Slytherin turned to look at her. Feeling a bit left out, Neville's roved around at the others before settling on her too.

" _Oh really?_ " Draco drawled. "And why do you say that?"

"Well," Hermione said faintly. Then she reached into her bag and pulled a small, clear and sealed glass jar from it. "I caught her," she said with quiet triumph, brandishing the container in which a few twigs, leaves, and a very large beetle had been placed.

"You're kidding," Theodore said sounding impressed. "Rita Skeeter's an unregistered Animagus?"

Neville squeaked in surprise, and Sally-Anne's eyes were brimming with glee.

"That's—never—I—May I see it?" Draco asked with the most polite tone he'd ever managed to Harry's very first best friend.

Hermione frowned a little. "Oh, I think not," she said with a huffy tone. "I've told her I'd let her out when we get back to London, not before."

Draco snorted in surprise. "You've blackmailed her?"

"Oh, yes. There's an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people." Smiling serenely, Hermione placed the jar back into her schoolbag.

"Merlin, that's _very clever_ ," Draco breathed out, unable to help himself.

"Thank you," Hermione said, though she didn't look as though Draco was being sincere.

Before anybody could react to Draco's unexpected compliment, the compartment door slid open. Ron Weasley gripped the side of the door tightly. "Hi, Harry. Just to be clear, you aren't dating my sister are you?" He said sounding as if he'd eaten too much cheese and was lactose intolerant. A large ginger-haired cat prowled inside rubbing against their legs before stopping in front of Hermione. She reached down to pet Crookshanks.

"No, I'm not," Harry said, glancing at the blond prat who was actively ignoring Ron's presence.

His Pursuivants also looked at Draco, who continued to read the newspaper as if it were the most engrossing thing in the world.

"Ginny already said as much," Hermione said with a stern tone as she lifted the long-haired cat into her lap. "So, if you've got nothing nice to say to Harry then go."

Ron's mouth worked. "I… uh… Harry, I heard that Viktor Krum gave you an autographed 1994 Bulgarian Seeker poster. Pristine condition."

Harry shot a look at Draco before the prat could open his mouth and infuriate the easily enraged Lion, but Draco didn't appear to have heard a thing. "Yes, he did."

"Um, maybe… you can show it to me, I dunno. Next year?"

"Why not right now?" Drawing Voldemort's wand, Harry cast, " _Accio_  Quidditch Poster."

A tube came flying through the air from the luggage carrier and knocked Ron on the side of his head, who made an indignant noise, before it landed in Harry's hand. "Better yet, I'll  _give_  this to you—"

" _What_?!" Ron squawked, looking like he was about to wet himself with excitement, while Draco said in an irate manner, "You can't just hand that off—"

"On loan until the end of the year, of course," Harry added, mostly so Draco would shut up and go back to pretending to read the newspaper.

Ron stiffened as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dropped on his head. "And what do you want from me?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

"Stop treating every Slytherin you come across like they're evil."

"I—I don't—" Ron spluttered.

"Yes, you do. You thought I was evil when I was Sorted into Slytherin. You thought I was going to be the next Dark Lord because you actually believed I was setting the basilisk on people in our second year. And then last year you treated me like dirt. Every time I didn't want to do something, you called me a  _bloody_   _Slytherin_  like my House was a dirty word."

"I—um. Well," he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm sorry, mate…"

"And if you can apologize to me then you should give one to Hermione too," Harry said, nodding towards her. "You insult her intelligence every chance you get. Just last year you were convinced,  _convinced_  that her cat—"

"Kneazle," Hermione said quietly with Crookshanks in her lap.

"—had murdered your rat. Then this year you were too scared to ask her out to the Yule Ball and then had the audacity to insult her  _again_! If you really liked her at all, you wouldn't act like a pompous prat to her like Draco does to you."

Ron's face was red everywhere. His fists kept clenching and unclenching where he stood. "You think it's really funny to rub it in my face with your groupies here to laugh at me behind my back, don't you?"

Harry didn't know what to say to that, but he glared at Draco when he dared to open his mouth again. Draco's lips came together in a broody sulk.

"You  _do_  seem a bit preoccupied with whether people are talking about you when you aren't around…" Sally-Anne said. "We don't find you  _that_  interesting, Weasley."

"Why don't you say something about my family again, Malfoy? Insult my mum or my sister or how poor we are again?" Ron's face had gone red. "I know  _you_  and your thugs think it's funny, you bloody wanker!"

"For your information,  _Weasley_ , I only ever laugh  _openly_  at you," Draco said, "Why would I bother wasting my time doing it behind your back?"

"Take a deep breath, Ron," Neville said with a soothing tone, like Harry had heard him speak to plants at Longbottom Manor.

Ron actually did take a deep breath. "If it wasn't for  _your father_  I might've met my Uncle Marty!"

Harry's eyes widened as he looked between the two, but Theodore placed a hand on his chest to keep him from getting up to stop the ensuing fight.

"My father offered blood money for your family's loss at the hands of the Dark Lord," Draco sounded weary. "He's offered countless sponsorships to each of you Weasleys as you've come of age. If you'd just accept and forgive—"

"I'd rather be a poor and destitute  _blood-traitor_  for the rest of my life than to accept  _anything_  from a Malfoy,  _especially one who's a Death Eater_!" Ron spat out viciously. "Your dad was hauled off to Azkaban again because his name's all over this!"

Draco sighed. "A pity you want to keep the Pureblood families divided in the face of adversity… How are we going to stop the coming tide of evil if we don't join hands as arms-brothers?"

That startled Ron so soundly that he stumbled against the door-frame. "I've gone mad," he said weakly. "A Malfoy renouncing evil?" He began to chuckle softly.

Dropping Crookshanks on the floor, Hermione stood and grasped Ron by a shoulder. "Let's go back to our compartment…"

"Wait," Harry said, thrusting the tube at Ron. "Take it. Give it back by end of next term."

Reverentially drawing the tube from Harry's fingers, Ron still had that same dazed look on his face as he was pushed out the door by Hermione. "Hermione, he's right. I've been a right git. I didn't mean to make you cry," was all they heard before another compartment farther down was shut.

Two people bounded up to their compartment and poked their red-heads in.

"What was all  _that_  about?" George said, hanging into their compartment.

Fred waggled his eyebrows. "Our brother finally owning up to his character weaknesses?"

"I don't know. Some element of Pureblood culture I don't understand," Harry said, looking at the prat who'd gone back to his newspaper.

"Malfoy offered to close the blood feud between your families," Sally-Anne answered. Draco as ever looked like he had smelled something foul when the twins looked over to him.

" _Ah,_ " Fred said on the other side of George, "Exploding Snap anyone?" He lifted up a pack of cards.

"Sure," Theodore and Neville said, nearly simultaneously. They smiled at each other and then went out to the narrow, cramped corridor to play a game. Neville sat on the floor in the doorway. Theodore was turned sideways and pressed up against the wall across from him and the twins sat on either side of them. Money soon became involved, and the two younger students lost their first match badly.

Harry settled in, stroking Hedwig's feathers as he looked out the window.

"Not going to ask?" Draco's reflection looked pensive.

"Hm? It's none of my business," Harry said to the window.

After more silence, Sally-Anne asked, "Harry, do you think your godfather will let you come visit me?"

"I don't see why not."

"It's just… with the Dark Lord rising. Wouldn't it be safer if I come over…?"

"He should let you. I don't think he'd refuse anything I wanted." Harry remembered how Sirius had dragged him to Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley before they went to Ollivanders, trying to get him to pick something out. But Harry hadn't wanted anything. He grinned. "I'll even ask if he'll let you over, Draco."

"Your Grace, some things are better left undisturbed," Draco intoned sagely.

"I was joking."

"I never  _can_  tell with you," came the dry response.

Theodore and Neville soon returned to their seats. "Five games and we've lost every time! If I hadn't checked the deck myself, I would've said they cheated," Theodore said, pressing his head against the bench seat.

"You don't seem very sore about it." Sally-Anne grinned at the werewolf.

"That's because we're brilliant at winning," Fred said. "Any other takers?"

A thought struck Harry then. "How much money do you still need to start your business?"

"We don't want a sponsorship,  _your Grace_. We're going to earn every last Knut," George informed him.

"And we like our independence and full use of magic," Fred said.

"You are speaking to someone who recently had a landfall of Galleons that they don't even want," Harry said. "Now do you want the money—no strings attached—or not?"

The both of them frowned, and so did everyone else in the compartment.

"But Cedric Diggory won all thousand Galleons. Unless he— _no_ , he didn't!" Fred did a little dance.

"Well, technically, our Harry did touch the Quadwizard Cup at the same exact moment Diggory did," George said with a saucy grin.

 _'Our'?_  Harry nodded. "He did. A sum of five hundred Galleons. Though I didn't count, I doubt he lied about it." And then pulled out the lumpy sack from his Extended pouch. "See it as payment due. Your Christmas gift from last year is invaluable."

The Weasleys exchanged a look and then matching mischievous grins overtook their faces. George took the money pouch from Harry's hand, like he wasn't sure quite what he was seeing.

"It certainly pays to have a filthy rich friend, doesn't it George?" Fred said teasingly.

"Especially when they're  _mental_ ," George added, weighing the bag in his hand. Neither of them looked like they were actually interested in taking it.

"If you don't put that away, I'll take it and donate it to Hermione's S.P.E.W. organization—"

"You mean, H.E.L.F., right?" Neville said to Harry.

"Right, that," he said. He'd forgotten that she had changed the name.

"Harry, we can't take this," George said weakly.

"I don't want it or need it.  _But…_  I could do with a few laughs." He looked at all his friends in the compartment. "We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them soon."

"Harry," Fred began, but Harry pulled out his wand and that got their attention.

"If you don't take it, I'm going to hex you. I know a lot of good ones."

His year-mates were agog at Harry like they weren't sure what they were witnessing.

"As much as I like to see you put your foot down, I don't think that's going to work," Theodore murmured, hardly moving his lips.

When the Weasleys insisted on mulling over the bag of money, Harry sighed and put the wand away. "Look, if you don't need all of it, spend some on your family. I sort of made a mess of their kitchen when I had a little fight with Snape, and it should be fixed now but I feel bad about that."

They blinked at him… well, everyone blinked at him.

"Why—" Draco started.

"It's not important," Harry told Snape's godson quickly before turning back to the twins, "I'm just saying you could buy Ron  _new_  dress robes that don't look so crummy or new textbooks and school supplies for Ginny or a pet for either of them or things for the Burrow. You can spend this money on  _anything_."

"Fred?"

"What, George?"

"Did  _Harry Potter_  actually threaten to hex us if we don't take the money and run?"

"I do believe so…"

The Weasley twins grinned. "Well, nice talking to you all, but we have dastardly rainbow-colored dungbombs to work on! Cheerio!" And off they trotted cackling madly down the corridor. Sally-Anne shut the compartment door behind them.

"You forge the strangest alliances," Draco remarked.

Sally-Anne let out a sigh and sat back down. "Personally, I'm a little terrified of what those two are going to make."

Theodore grinned. "Whatever it is, it should make life interesting at Hogwarts, don't you think?"

"They are going to make a lot of Canary Creams with all those Galleons," added Neville.

Harry muffled his giggle. Canary Creams were the least of their problems. The full creative potential of a pair of pranksters unleashed onto their unsuspecting school? Harry couldn't wait to see what they did.

* * *

All too soon Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters. The usual confusion and noise filled the corridors as the students began to disembark. Harry helped Neville with his trunk and soon they were all pulling their trunks—excepting Draco, whose trunk followed him two paces behind him wherever he went—to their families.

Sirius Black was chatting animatedly with Molly Weasley and her family of redheads when Narcissa Malfoy approached Harry. A step behind his mother, Draco kept looking worriedly towards Harry's godfather.

Hand hovering near his wand holster, Harry looked up at the tall, long-haired Malfoy Matriarch who was gazing at him steadily. Surprisingly, Harry's mind didn't immediately flash to the image of her desperate husband crawling belly-down through mud towards a mad dark lord.

"I offer invitation for you to visit my estate."

"I will politely decline, Mrs. Malfoy. I may be called to testify against Mr. Malfoy," Harry said dryly.

Mrs. Malfoy's lips twisted with annoyance. "Then I shall, happily, allow Draco to visit you at your residence. With your guardian's permission, of course."

The hand of Harry's godfather clasped Harry's shoulder tightly as if worried that he might make off with the Malfoys. "I would sooner die than give the location of my home to a  _Malfoy_ ," Sirius said.

"I would not be so hasty to throw away your second chance at life, cousin; it might crush what's left of your godson's heart," Draco's mum said coolly. As they stared each other down, Harry saw that Draco's mother was tense as if ready to draw her wand and strike.

Then Harry noticed that Draco had backed off. The prat seemed to be flicking his eyes to the side. Harry gave him a puzzled frown. Draco added in a little gesture with his hand that seemed to scream, ' _Get out of the way!'_

Harry shifted in a non-obtrusive manner to the side and saw how wound-up the two were. He had never seen two adults look so close to hexing each other.

"Let's go, Harry, and leave this Dark witch to her duplicitous ways." Sirius grabbed the handle to the trolley that had Harry's things. When he stepped close enough, he pressed a hand on Harry's shoulder, pushing the both of them towards the exit.

"Bye, Draco," Harry said over his free shoulder. He saw only a little wave of fingers and then Draco's mother placed a protective arm around her son's shoulders turning him away.

Sirius insisted that Harry go through the barrier first, and beyond it Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waiting as they stood by their four children currently attending Hogwarts, along with Bill and another Weasley son, who must've been Charlie. Percy wasn't there, but Hermione was.

Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry very tightly when she saw him and whispered in his ear, "Dumbledore will let us come visit you later over the summer."

Harry broke out into a dopey grin. "Really? Even after I…" He faltered as his throat went tight. "Even after I made a mess of your kitchen?"

She nodded looking not at all put off by the thought. "Don't worry about that, dear. Fred and George have done  _worse_."

"What happened to the kitchen?" Ron asked sounding cross. Hermione also looked interested in knowing.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Ron! It's all fixed up," the twins caroused together, while Ginny silently watched their interactions.

"Have you met my sons, Bill and Charlie?" Mr. Weasley said, gesturing towards them.

Harry shook both of their hands. "No, I haven't. Er. Not formally…"

"Nice to meet you," long-haired Bill said.

"You work with dragons, right?" Harry asked Charlie.

"Yes, I helped bring the ones used in the First Task over from Romania. Nice work on the Horntail."

Sirius clapped his hands on both of Harry's shoulders, startling him into grabbing the handle of the yew wand. He was relieved that he hadn't yanked it out. "Harry and I have a lot planned for this summer, so we really must go. Keep in touch?"

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Bye, Harry!" Ginny said cheerfully, and then did something she had never done before and chastely kissed Harry on the lips.

Hermione beamed at the both of them, while Ron made a gagging noise.

"Bye, Ginny…" Harry touched his lips with a puzzled expression, and then Sirius was steering him out of the station, dragging the trolley behind him.

"Got yourself a girlfriend, Harry?" Sirius teased.

"Hardly."

"Got yourself a boyfriend then?" His godfather didn't sound like he cared either way.

"Actually, I'm not interested in dating or any sort of  _illicit_  activities."

Sirius snorted. "You'll grow into it I'm sure. Just wait a year."

With a soft sigh, Harry decided it might be better not to argue the point.

They made it to a dark niche in the corner of the station and Apparated away.

**~*The End*~**

* * *

**Preview of Harry and the Flanking Bishops**

_"So, if I screw up somehow and mess up the timeline, the only person who gets hurt is me?"_

_The aged wizard nodded. "You appear to be a very responsible individual, Harry. So I will share something about the nature of this device I gifted to you." The adult paused as if he might change his mind, but then said, "It is not a time turner."_

_"It's not?"_

_"No. Had you used such a device your mere presence would have irrevocably damaged the timeline."_

_Harry stared with obvious confusion._

_"In addition, without the time limiters to prevent a witch or wizard from going backwards greater than five hours, it is entirely possible you would have un-born yourself the moment you removed the time turner from your person. The erasure of your existence would be the event that would have harmed the timeline."_

_This talk of being un-born sounded rather horrifying to Harry. "Then… what is it?"_

_"An invention of my own devising: A Wrinkle Advancement Dis-Placer," the headmaster said as if this made complete sense._

_"…which doesn't work with time?"_

_"Not precisely no. It discovers the nearest Wrinkle in the wearer's timeline and transports them to that point in space. At this very moment, you are Dis-Placed from your original time."_

_Harry blinked, and then he blinked again as relief flooded into him. "So, I won't be un-born."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for leaving kudos, comments, and/or subscribing to this story! I do not know when the next arc (Harry and the Flanking Bishops) will be out since I have a lot to edit and a ton of scenes to write. I'm going to predict somewhere around December as a safe bet, just because my life has been hectic to the nth power.
> 
> As always, I'm open to comments, questions, or criticisms. Thanks!


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